A MILL TOWN PASTOR 

JOSEPH CONROY.S.J. 





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A MILL TOWN PASTOR 



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A MILL TOWN PASTOR 

Story of a Witty and Valiant Priest 

8vo. Net $1.75. Postage 15 cents. 

m This is the story of a priest told in a most 
lively fashion, full of humor and sparkling wit 
and keen insight, as gay as it is penetrating; 
and of a very real priest, Father Daniel Coffey, 
who shaped the spiritual destinies of a little mill 
town in Ohio. It is a book one will want to 
read through at a sitting, and come back to it 
again for its sheer delight. 



A MILL TOWN PASTOR 

THE STORY OF A WITTY AND 
VALIANT PRIEST 



BY 



REV. JOSEPH P. CONROY, S.J. 




New York Cincinnati Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS OF BENZIGER'S MAGAZINE 
1021 






FRANCIS X. McMENAMY, S.J., 

Praep. Prov. Missouriamae 



ARTHUR J. SCANLAN, S.T.D., 

Censor Librorum 



imprimatur 

^ PATRICK J. HAYES, D.D., 

Archbishop of New York 



New York, January 28, 1921 



Copyright, 1921, by Benziger Brothers 

APR -7 1921 
g)CI.A614006 



TO THE DIOCESAN PRIESTS 

WHOM I HAVE MET UPON THE MISSIONS 

IN ADMIRATION OF THEIR ZEAL AND ABILITY 

AND IN GRATEFUL RECOGNITION 

OF MANY KINDNESSES 

THIS SKETCH OF ONE OF THEM 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY THE AUTHOR 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB PAGE 

I White and Black .... 9 

II At Home 16 

III The Ladders of School ... 27 

IV College Days ..... 36 
V Some Letters 54 

VI Toward the Altar . . . . 66 

VII Early Days in the Ministry . 74 

VIII Another Tunnel 86 

IX The Mills of Men .... 98 

X Spreading Sail 113 

XI He Had Compassion . . . 123 

XII A Portrait and a Walk . . 142 

XIII A Parish of Peace .... 155 

XIV Straws . . 167 

XV The Little Ones . . . .177 

XVI An Adventure in Oil . . . 190 

XVII A Sea Change 203 

XVIII Trade Till I Come .... 213 

XIX The Last Road 223 



A MILLTOWN PASTOR 

CHAPTER I 

WHITE AND BLACK 

"\7 r ESSUH, the platform's right here, 
I suh." 

I took my two bags from the porter, stepped 
off the train and plunged down into five feet 
of snow. 

When I emerged and got something like my 
bearings, all I could see through a clear spot on 
my glasses was that porter. His eyes had 
rolled into two astonished little snowballs. 

"Is this the platform I'm on, porter?" I 
asked, through a mouthful of snow. The 
question was intended to be severe. 

"No suh, I don't guess it is, suh," said he. 

"I should say it isn't," I retorted, with what 
was meant for ironic repartee. The porter 
never answered the crushing remark. I knew 
he was going to laugh out loud as soon as he 
got inside. 

The train pulled out and I was left stand- 



10 White and Black 

ing almost neck deep in a world of snow and 
freighted with two bags that had to be landed 
somew r here. 

Cautiously I settled the two bags at my feet, 
rubbed more snow off my glasses and looked 
about. Great hills of whirling snow to my 
right, off across where I knew the river was. 
To my left, more hills of snow, with bulges of 
snow scattered over them and gathered at 
their base. This was the town. In the center, 
just before me, and rising stark against the 
whiteness, the huge stacks of the mills were 
silhouetted, like black fingers reaching up to 
grasp at the sky. Nothing else in sight. 

"Are you the Father that's going to give 
the mission?" I heard a young voice say. 

"Hello!" I answered, looking about. Over 
near a round bulge that formerly was the sta- 
tion I saw two faces peering over a snow 
trench. They were two boys. 

"Yes," I said. "If I can ever get far 
enough out of this to start something. But 
how am I going to get out of here?" 

"You'll have to get over where we are, 
Father. The ground's smooth. Just walk it 
and we have a path the rest of the way up." 

It was only some twenty feet to go. I 
waded the distance and sure enough saw the 



White and Black 11 

path, hitherto invisible, and back on the path 
two toy sleds waiting for my bags. I handed 
up the bags, scrambled up on the platform, 
shook hands with the boys, placed the bags on 
the sleds, and we began our climb ; for we had to 
climb every foot of the way. John went first 
with bag and sled number one. Vincent sec- 
ond with bag and sled number two, and I 
brought up the rear, puffing and vapory, like 
the steam calliope in the circus parade. We 
wound around and up, and up and around, and 
finally straight up. Snow on all sides of us, 
but for John and Vincent it was the great ad- 
venture. They kept talking, shouting, boss- 
ing each other all the way, without a sign of 
fatigue, until at last a little run, a shove ex- 
traordinary, and — 

"Welcome, Father, to the top of Mount 
Ararat. You have Noah beaten. He came 
down here out of the rain, but you climbed up 
through the snow. Isn't it grand weather for 
the mission? Now beat it you, John and Vin- 
cent, and change your clothes or you'll get 
your death of cold. Don't give them any- 
thing, Father. They're working for the mis- 
sion. Well, go along with you now. Come 
right in, Father, and we'll shovel the snow off 
you. Such a lovely day!" 



12 White cmd Black 

I shook hands with Father Coffey, pastor of 
St. Agnes' Church in Mingo Junction, and be- 
gan my first mission there that night. 

The memory of that mission will be with me 
always. Not that there was anything the least 
pretentious about the externals of the place. 
It was not a spacious structure of romantic 
glooms and alluring vistas. It was merely a 
little wooden, smoke-battered church, with a 
rectory no whit more luxurious, and a school 
building and a Sisters' house copied from no 
Venetian palace. 

All four buildings were on the slope of a 
steep hill with the church at the top. There 
was more of the hill above the church, but my 
surmise is that the original builders got too 
tired to carry the lumber any further up the 
hill and stopped while they had strength 
enough left to go on with the construction. 
They never imagined perhaps that the day 
would come when others would build even far- 
ther up the hill to its very top and then out over 
the flat land that breaks there. 

It was not the costly architecture that im- 
pressed me. It was the people. The first 
notable thing was the way they attended that 
mission through weather that would bother the 
monks of St. Bernard. The snow continued 



, 



White and Black 13 

for days and it was humorously edifying to see 
half the congregation stumble up to the church 
and the other half slide down to it. As early 
as five o'clock in the morning they could be 
seen in the half light making their laborious 
way toward the church and three times a day 
thereafter various groups made the journey 
forth and back. Going home, of course, the 
climbers turned into sliders and vice versa. 
And it was not merely the young people who 
did it. Every one in the parish made the mis- 
sion and all were fervent and jolly over it at 
the same time, with the buoyancy of genuine 
hill-climbers. 

"This congregation is not on the level," 
Father Coffey said. 

The next thing one could not fail to observe 
was the fact that a large part of the people 
was made up of Slovaks, Hungarians, Aus- 
trians, Italians, Poles — in the country com- 
paratively only a short time; while the others 
were Americans, principally descendants of 
Irish parentage, perhaps of the third genera- 
tion. But while there was a difference, there 
was no division. It was like a family gather- 
ing. Everyone appreciated everyone else. 
Racial distinctions were not even thought 
about. Each person felt completely and com- 



14 White and Black 

fortably at home. An atmosphere of good 
feeling, of cheerful give and take, was abroad. 
And it did not require subtle observation to 
note that the whole congregation strongly but 
quietly gravitated toward Father Coffey and 
moved with him and about him. It was the 
first insight I got of his extraordinary power 
over a wide variety of characters. 

Toward the close of the week the snow 
turned into rain, even a more disheartening 
obstacle to a mission than snow. But the peo- 
ple came as steadily as the rain. 

"Noah is at it again," said Father Coffey. 
"He's never happy unless there's water on 
Mount Ararat. I thought he'd send me at 
least one dove out of two missionaries. But 
it's two ravens he sent me." 

In a spiritual sense, at any rate, it is the 
problem of the dove and the raven that fronts 
the priest at every turn, and nowhere more 
insistently than in a mill town where heavy and 
incessant toil tends to bring on a physical 
fatigue that blots out the soul's heaven with a 
screen of smoke; a dull monotony that saps 
away the upleaping of the spirit in the shrivel- 
ing furnace of routine. 

To preserve the earthly lives of his children 
white as the new-fallen snow, to keep heaven 



, 



White and Black 15 

open to their gaze and the great black fingers 
of sin from clutching their souls and dragging 
them down into darkness, was the problem that 
faced Father Coffey and that Father Coffey 
faced — a problem sharply typified that night 
by the hills that lay white around me and the 
black mill-stacks reaching threateningly into 
the sky above. 



CHAPTER II 
AT HOME 

AT the time of the "Mount Ararat" inci- 
dent in 1913, Father Coffey was forty- 
one years of age. He was born in Brooklyn 
on the thirtieth of July, 1872. He grew up as 
a little fellow in that city and received his early 
education in the schools there. The seeds of 
a character that ripened so beautifully with 
the years, were started into vigorous growth 
during those early days at home. 

Young Dan grew up in the parish of St. 
Francis Xavier in Brooklyn and Monsignor 
Hickey, the pastor, was his lifelong friend. 
"I knew him as a boy of good, solid Catholic 
parents," said Monsignor Hickey. "Solid" 
is by no means a synonym for stolid when ap- 
plied to Catholicity. There was very little 
stolidity about the Coffey family. Plenty of 
room for Dan's individuality of character to 
grow, for his native wit to blossom, and his 
sunny temper to light up everything around 

16 



At Home 17 

him. It was not one of those mortuary house- 
holds where ten thousand and ten command- 
ments, mostly "don'ts," like a swarm of hor- 
nets, are daily unloosed around the bewildered 
head of childhood, and where forcible feeding 
followed by the broomstick drill administered 
with grim Puritanic ferocity, are the staple 
family devotions. 

On the contrary, Dannie had the good for- 
tune to be trained in a home where the great 
principle was understood that each soul is a 
special creation of God, with its own alloted 
characteristics, its unique temperament, its as- 
signed gifts, its definite limitations. "As a 
tree planted by the running waters, that will 
yield its fruit in its own season" — this was the 
underlying idea followed out in the upbring- 
ing of young Daniel and this is the reason why 
his parents are aptly described as "solidly 
Catholic." 

He wasn't allowed to grow wild, of course. 
Dan got his "trimmings" like any other boy. 
But he got them when he needed them. He 
wasn't torn up by the roots ; suffered from no 
freak graftings, was stripped of none of the 
strong, reaching boughs of individuality. No 
attempts were made to get the fruit before the 
blossom, but there was always patient wait- 



18 At Home 

ing, attentive watching, nevertheless, that the 
fruit should appear "in its own time." 

"He was the same as a boy that he was as a 
priest," said Monsignor Hickey, "a genial, 
energetic boy, liked by his teachers, liked by 
his companions and withal devout and regular 
at the Sacraments." 

Words like these tell in a nutshell all that 
we should like to hear about a boy, and every 
word points directly at his home as the source 
of that combination of vivacity and seriousness 
of character which were woven together in his 
life with so perfect a balance of each against 
the other. The earliest incidents of his boy- 
hood forecast this wit and wisdom of his with 
great accuracy. 

He had a statue of St. John for his room 
and he got the idea into his little head that this 
St. John ought to go about doing good. So he 
took the statue into his arms — he wasn't much 
bigger than the statue — and started down the 
street with it to the church, some blocks dis- 
tant. Wisely, nobody in the house prevented 
him, but let him work out the idea for himself. 
He carried St. John to church, had it blessed 
and returned home with it. He repeated this 
performance again and again at intervals of 
a few days, until the spectacle of a very small 



At Home 19 

boy with a very large statue moving down the 
street began to be a nine days' wonder, espe- 
cially to the good, if curious, ladies who took 
a little time from their housework to keep en 
rapport with happenings in the street. 

"Who is that child that keeps carrying the 
statue up and down past the house?" asked 
Number One. 

"I can't imagine who he is," said Number 
Two. "I watched him several days and he al- 
ways carries it into the church." 

"Here he is now. Let's ask him what he is 
doing," said Number Three. 

Dannie came along, solemn as a butler, per- 
fectly alive to the fact that he was watched, 
knowing that he was to be questioned, but with 
that straight ahead look and that apparent 
oblivion of observation which all who knew him 
in later life remember with much amusement. 

"Where are you going with the statue, little 
boy?" asked Number One, as Dan came along- 
side. 

Dan became conscious of their presence. 

"I am going to the church, lady," said he. 

"Isn't that statue heavy?" ventured Number 
Two. 

"It isn't as heavy as I am, ma'am," said 
Dannie, serenely. 



20 At Home 

"What is it the statue of?" she asked, rather 
flustered by Dannie's unexpected answer. 

"It is the statue of St. John," replied 
Dannie. 

"St. John!" said Number Three. "Isn't 
that cute!" 

"Cute!" said Dan, putting down the statue. 
"He was the best friend of our Lord and he 
was thrown into a big barrel of boiling oil." 

"Mercy!" exclaimed all Three. 

Dan had them w T here he wanted them and 
he proceeded to give a picture of St. John in 
the barrel of boiling oil with the grotesque en- 
largements of which only a small boy with an 
imagination is capable, until he had the three 
ladies petrified with fright. Then he put his 
arms around St. John and marched off with 
him to the church. 

"Now they'll know St. John was somebody," 
said Dan when he told his mother all about it. 

A good non-Catholic lady stopped him an- 
other day with the statue and kindly tried to 
show him just what idol worship meant. 
Really it was too bad that a little fellow should 
be brought up to adore images in that way. 
Dan won the battle with his usual tactics. He 
waited until he could get the point of his wit 
through an unwatched spot in the enemy's 



At Home 21 

armor and then, putting down the statue, he 
gave the history of St. John again, splashing 
the boiling oil around with the verisimilitude 
of a necromancer. 

"Her eyes opened wide," he told his mother. 

Master Coffey had learned early in life the 
lesson of the beatus vir, the "happy man," of 
the Scripture, that genuine fun and genuine 
piety are almost synonymous terms. He 
never forgot it. 

As a sidelight of the above incident we might 
gather that Master Dan had a way with him 
of being close to his mother. So it was. 
Mother and son were an understanding pair 
who worked together perfectly, mother giving 
Dan plenty of room to work and Dan telling 
his mother just how everything went and tak- 
ing the necessary directions with an intelligent 
docility. 

"Daniel dearly loved his mother," writes his 
sister Josephine, "and as well as circumstances 
would allow, she was his companion until her 
death. He shared with her everything he had. 
Even as a little fellow, when he bought candy 
he saved half of it for her. Any gift that could 
be divided, she received half of it. And the 
half that was left he shared so freely all around 
that often he didn't have anything at all for 



22 At Home 

himself. He made no fuss about giving. He 
liked to see people have things." 

This liking to see people "have things'' was 
with him until the end. 

One thing he did not like to give away was 
flowers. He had a great love for flowers, 
planting them himself and watching them as 
children. "When but a child/' his sister 
writes, "anything he would plant would grow 
so splendidly. He seemed to understand them 
and to know just what they needed. He used 
to say the flowers loved the dead." 

Off his little dining room in Mingo, many 
years later, he had built a tiny room, walled 
with glass for his flowers. He glorified it with 
the name "Conservatory." And when the 
huge smoke drifts swept up the hill from the 
mill stacks below, one could see against the 
dun background pouring around the windows, 
like a rainbow in a storm, the gleam of Father 
Coffey's flowers. 

It is not to be supposed from what we have 
said that Dannie was a "mama's boy"; mean- 
ing, in the popular estimation, a boy who on 
the first appearance of trouble clings passion- 
ately to mother's skirts and burying a flower- 
like face deep therein, bursts into convulsive 
tears. No, Dan was an aggressive youngster, 



At Home 23 

and aggressive people haven't time for tears. 
They are too busy doing things and among 
those things is the inevitable boys' fight. Dan 
had his share of the neighborhood fights, re- 
turning at times therefrom with a face that 
bore the marks of battle. Doubtless the other 
fellow carried its mate. The element of fun, 
though, was not absent from his fighting. 

Once Dan was walking along the street and 
on turning a corner he came upon a drunken 
man, followed at a little distance by a bunch 
of boys. Whether it is a mysterious cruelty 
that lurks in boys that makes them torment a 
drunken man, or whether it is their innate dis- 
gust at a giant deliberately reducing himself 
to a helpless hulk, at any rate they regard in- 
toxication as fair game for them. This gang 
of boys was no exception to the rule. They 
were still at some little distance behind the 
man, but gradually were drawing closer for a 
war dance around him as they sensed his com- 
plete inability to defend himself. 

Dan took in the situation in a flash. He 
never thought it square to attack anyone who 
was down. He knew the crowd, but he went 
against it. He got in between them and the 
drunken man. 

"You fellows let him alone," he said. 



24 At Home 

"Aw, what's it to you?" they retorted. "We 
had him before you came around." 

"Well, you ain't going to have him any 
longer," said Dan. 

"Is that so? Who says we ain't? Listen to 
the copper talking!" was the derisive repartee 
of the gang. 

Just then the man, realizing in a blurred 
way that someone was trying to help him, tried 
to straighten up, but after a series of pyrotech- 
nic zigzags, dropped in a lump to the sidewalk. 
Dan stepped over to him, took a quick look at 
him, turned to the crowd of boys and said : 

"You aren't going to make fun of your own 
father, Billy Jackson, are you?" Billy was 
the biggest boy in the crowd and about Dan's 
size. 

"He is not my father," shouted Billy indig- 
nantly, coming forward. 

"You just look and see," said Dan. 

In a sudden panic, Billy did look closely at 
the man. 

"You're a liar!" he screamed. "It is not my 
father." 

"I didn't say he was," said Dan jauntily. 

"I'll hit you a punch in the eye," yelled 
Billy. 

Dan didn't wait. He hit Billy a punch in 



At Home 25 

the eye and another punch in the other eye. 
Billy was staggered. The crowd was agape. 
The unexpected turn of events was too much 
for their brains. 

"Come on, now, and help him up," said Dan, 
just as though nothing had happened. Billy's 
head was evidently cleared by the punches he 
got, for he helped Dan set the man on his feet 
and take him to his home near by. 

One very cold, snowy night in midwinter 
Dan came into the house, carefully leading an 
old woman who had lost her way in the storm. 
Dan had been trudging home as fast as he 
could out of the freezing weather, when he 
observed a bewildered figure standing per- 
fectly still and gazing about. He stopped, 
inquired if he could be of help and found that 
he could be, indeed. The old lady was com- 
pletely out of her way and was suffering much 
with the cold. The alert Dan took immediate 
charge of her, guided her to his own home, in- 
troduced her to them all and then said : 

"Mother, may we have a cup of hot tea?" 

Mother was delighted. She made the tea 
and soon the old lady was thoroughly warmed 
and comfortable. Dan then brought her 
to her home, a long distance away. 

We are told that such things were not at all 



26 At Home 

unusual for Dan to do. "He loved the old 
and the poor," said his sister Josephine, "and 
was happy when helping to make them 
happy." Whenever he could not see his way 
to assist them, he depended on the folks at 
home and it says much for the understanding 
hospitality of his home that thej^ never failed 
to come to his rescue. Even while away at 
college, writing to his mother he said: "Mother, 
do not let a poor person pass by your door. 
Give him my share." The idea never left him 
and later in life "my share" grew to be every- 
thing he had. 

Not many mothers would trust the dressing 
of their hair to their young sons. Not many 
boys, I think, would dare to attempt the mazy 
task. Mrs. Margaret Duffy, sister of Father 
Coffey, and still living in Brooklyn, tells us 
that she remembers well how when mother was 
unwell or very tired and the girls were busy, 
Master Daniel would drop his ball and bat, 
take up comb and brush and dress her hair 
with the delicate skill and sure touch of an 
artist. Looking at Daniel from this particu- 
lar angle, I regard him with admiring awe. 



CHAPTER III 
THE LADDERS OF SCHOOL 

ALL this time Dan was climbing rung af- 
ter rung of the school ladders. In my 
search of his record through this period I have 
found no gold medals, no ribbons of excellence, 
none of those "high marks" which proclaim the 
youthful phenomenon of the lofty brow. Dan 
"got through" safely, however, and his teach- 
ers never forgot him. 

"Did Dan Coffey graduate?" asked one of 
his teachers who had left the school and was 
inquiring after her old class that had moved 
up from her. 

"Yes," was the answer, "he passed in every 
branch." 

"I knew he would," said his former teacher. 
"They never could keep that boy down." 

The truth seemed to be that when Dan got 
his lessons, he mastered them with brilliancy. 
After winning the teacher's heart with some 
wonderful work, he would hazard a mental 
holiday and would appear in class with a brain 

27 



28 The Ladders of School 

utterly empty of legitimate answers to ques- 
tions on the class matter, but full up of original 
ideas for avoiding discovery and fresh methods 
of throwing the pursuers off the trail. 

"I was like Eliza crossing the ice with the 
bloodhounds after me," he once said, remem- 
bering with delight those contests. 

Dan had shrewd teachers who were not to be 
easily fooled by the world-old strategy of boys 
in school. He understood, accordingly, that 
he had to evolve something new every time to 
have the least chance of escape. He did it. 

"I used to wait for Dan Coffey at every one 
of the corners a boy could turn to get away 
from his teachers," said one who remembered 
him accurately, "when all of a sudden I would 
find him right behind me with a look of inno- 
cence on his face and a touch of wonder as 
though he didn't know what I was worrying 
about. Sympathy, too, was in his eyes, as 
though he would wish to help me out of any 
trouble I was in, no matter what it might be. 
No other boys in the room would think of the 
escapes he planned, and if they did, they 
wouldn't dare to try them." 

•Of course Dan didn't escape all the time. 
His average of successes, however, made the 
game worth the risks. It had been easier for 



The Ladders of School 29 

him to get the lessons by straight study, but 
the spirit of adventure led him into these con- 
tests of wits and no doubt he was here learning 
things that were not to be found in books. 
After one of these escapades he would settle 
down again and sparkle with intelligence until 
his teachers would be on the point of regarding 
him as a boy wonder, when another dash across 
the thin ice would turn incipient admiration 
into gasps of bewilderment. 

"Dan was never loud, nor coarse, nor de- 
structive," continues his friend and teacher. 
"He wasn't what boys nowadays call 'rough 
house/ He never upset the class and he was 
the pink of politeness. No matter how tight 
a corner he was in, his answers to all questions 
were perfectly mannerly. He did everything 
gracefully, including mistakes. And his ruses 
were so new always, so unexpected and so 
— funny is the only word I can think of to de- 
scribe them — so funny, that even the teacher 
had to see that they left a trail of sunshine after 
them and over the whole class." 

They threw a slight shadow across Dan's 
averages, nevertheless; but it was the sunniest 
shadow that ever flitted across a record book. 
I may cause a deep frown to mold itself upon 
the iron brow of the modern statistical educa- 



30 



The Ladders of School 



tor and I may bring an ominous stone finger to 
train upon me as a traitor to the cause, but I 
am free to say that I am glad that Dannie, like 
Eliza, crossed the ice. 

The grades finished, Dan hesitated as to his 
next step, whether to continue at school or to 
go into the world of business. 

New York was then beginning her swing 
into full financial power and opportunities 
were many, even for youngsters, to move with 
the tide to fortune. Dan started to work but 
kept in the back of his head the alternative of 
school. 

About this time he came into close contact 
with Father, now Monsignor, Hickey, his pas- 
tor, and the lifelong friendship then formed 
proved a turning point in Dan's career. 
Father Hickey was in the beginnings of the 
splendid buildings he has since erected for his 
parish and was weaving his way through the 
continuous and often tantalizing difficulties 
that rose between him and the fulfillment of his 
dream. 

Difficulties were always a challenge to Dan, 
especially the difficulties of a friend. Young 
as he was he offered himself to aid Father 
Hickey in whatever way was possible for a 
lad. 



The Ladders of School 31 

"No one/' said Monsignor Hickey, "was 
deeper in the work than Daniel Coffey; none 
was more jubilant over our successes, or more 
tenacious in hanging on whenever a setback 
came. He made the parish cause his own as 
far as he could, and he had a way with him that 
could cut through trouble when older heads 
had failed. And whether the prospects were 
dark or bright, Dan drew fun out of the situa- 
tion. He added a touch of sunshine to every- 
thing." 

One of the activities for the promotion of 
funds was the then inevitable bazaar. Among 
the things entrusted to Dan was the decora- 
tion of the hall where the bazaar was to be 
held. Dan had a sure taste for decoration. 
As one of his friends said in later years: "Give 
Father Coffey a yard of ribbon and a' paper 
flower and he'll make a chicken coop look in- 
teresting." 

Dan settled down to the work of decorating. 
He enlisted a little army of helpers and an- 
other of contributors. Bunting, flags, flowers, 
Japanese lanterns, pennants, plants, appeared 
in plenty. Odd, curious and simply unusable 
gifts likewise came in from generous but un- 
enlightened souls. Dan received the bric-a- 
brac with the serious and gracious elegance he 



32 The Ladders of School 

knew how to employ, sincerely thanking the 
donors, but using a necessary ingenuity to hide 
most of it in the limbo of dark corners. 

Just when the work was about finished and 
Dan was standing back to give the masterpiece 
one of his pre-Raphaelite looks of approving 
contemplation, two ladies stepped up to him, 
each carrying a bird cage with a canary in it. 

"Mr. Coffey," said one of them, "we simply 
couldn't resist loaning you our lovely canaries. 
The hall is so beautiful that it needs only this 
added touch to make it seem like home. We 
know you will like them and you will take the 
best care of them won't you? " 

Dan groaned in spirit. Canary birds a 
decoration at a bazaar! Where the boys 
would poke sticks in at them to see them bite 
and the girls feed them with indigestible bazaar 
foods ! But the two were such dear old ladies ! 
Gallantry won the day. 

"Canaries!" exclaimed he. "What an orig- 
inal idea! We'll just embower them in a 
secluded spot and have the people enjoy some 
invisible singing." 

Dan hung the cages aloft near the roof in a 
nest of tissue paper and flags and hoped the 
boys wouldn't see them. The opening night 
passed famously, Not the least trouble with 



The Ladders of School 33 

the birds. They were so quiet that the boys 
never suspected them. But somebody else did, 
Next morning Dan came rushing into Father 
Hickey's study. 

"My God, Father, we're ruined!" he said. 

"What is the matter?" asked Father Hickey, 
alarmed. 

"Matter!" said Dan. "Here's all that's left 
of those canary birds." And he held out a 
weak scramble of yellow feathers. 

"That tomcat climbed up on the rafters and 
had a midnight lunch off them," he said. 
"How will I ever tell those ladies?" 

What to do? The strategy board met and 
after the meeting Dan went down town and 
purchased two other canaries as like the lately 
deceased as possible. He brought them in the 
cages to the home of the two ladies. 

"Ladies," he said, "we are most grateful to 
you for allowing us to have your beautiful 
birds for the opening evening. In spite of 
their great attractiveness we fear that the noise 
and excitement may get on their nerves and 
injure them. That would be too bad for such 
lovely creatures and we should never forgive 
ourselves if anything happened to them." 

The ladies understood very graciously and 
Dan withdrew. 



34 The Ladders of School 

The following day Dan dashed into Father 
Hickey's study again, this time jubilantly. 

"What do you think, Father Hickey? A 
miracle has been performed in the parish!" 
Father Hickey was mystified. 

"Why," continued Dan, "the Misses Young 
were in at the hall just now in an ecstasy. I 
thought they were coming to sue for damages, 
but they came to tell me the wonderful result 
of the one night stand their birds had at the 
bazaar. 'Those birds,' they said, 'began to 
sing for us the moment you left them at the 
house and they have been singing ever since/ 

" 'Wasn't that nice of them!' " I said. 

"'Nice, Mr. Coffey!' they said; 'that isn't 
the word at all for it. It's miraculous, that's 
what it is. Those canaries never sang a note 
in their lives before!' " 

The close and sympathetic companionship 
of young Dan with Father Hickey had its ef- 
fect. Dan saw with growing clearness the 
work of the priesthood with its wide opportuni- 
ties for helping others and this attraction ap- 
pealed to him with steadily growing force. 
"Dan was as deeply interested in the parish 
as I was," writes Monsignor Hickey, "and I 
was not surprised to see him finally choose the 



The Ladders of School 35 

calling of the priesthood as his vocation in 
life." 

Dan took up the study of Latin and his pas- 
tor was his first teacher. He made good pro- 
gress in that and kindred studies and in the fall 
of 1890 he entered St. Charles' College, Elli- 
cott City, Maryland. 



CHAPTER IV 
COLLEGE DAYS 

THE college boy, as he appears in the pages 
of the accepted biography or novel, is 
generally a messy creature. He is either raw 
unto bleeding or he is overdone to a cinder. 
A composite of the school characters one re- 
members from the books would make an olla 
podrida fit only for a witch's cauldron: A 
lovelorn, irresponsible gander of an Arthur 
Pendennis; a romantic desperado of a Steer- 
forth; the icy flawlessness of a "double first" 
Cladstone; the bulging-brow r ed memory feats 
of a Macaulay ; heaps of vulgar rubbish from a 
Stalky & Co.; swashes of egotistical cynicism 
from a Henry Adams ; atop of this, bunches of 
hard muscle from incipient pugilists, ballplay- 
ers, oarsmen, foot racers, high jumpers, and 
all of it heavily spiced with loud yawps of 
vacant merriment, indicating "heads to let," 
and with yodles, rah-rahs, town and gown riots, 
Jew pawnbrokers, bills payable, parti-colored 
garments, 

36 



College Days 37 

Yo! ho! ho! and a bottle of rum! 

A gruel thick and slap! Sniffing it cau- 
tiously and from a distance, one concludes that 
any college undertaking to make that concoc- 
tion taste like champagne should select for its 
motto : 

Double, double toil and trouble! 

Especially if the faculty of said college is to 
be along the lines these same books tell us is 
typical — a more or less rambling and random 
collection of absentminded, dry-as-dust Dom- 
inie Sampsons, at the mercy of every sprout- 
ing youth whose callow imagination runs ex- 
clusively to tricks ; who succeed with them, too, 
every time, because the collective faculty has 
about as much knowledge of human nature as 
of the hinter side of the moon. 

College days in the books are always a 
Roman triumph for the boys and a "Vse victis" 
for the faculty. 

It may be so in the colleges these books pro- 
fess to describe. My own rather prolonged 
experience, however, both as a student and as 
a faculty member of Catholic colleges, tells me 
distinctly that here it is not so. It is the stu- 
dents and not the faculty who are trained in 



38 College Days 

Catholic colleges- Whatever happens else- 
where, a boy in a Catholic college is sure not to 
get "absent treatment." 

A Catholic college is a "strict" college, which 
means that in the intellectual field the college 
expects to get its lessons done; on the moral 
side, it insists on a life aligned with the Ten 
Commandments ; in the matter of discipline, it 
calls for such united movement on the part of 
the students that no friction shall develop to 
interfere with either morals or studies. 

The main aim of a Catholic college is the 
morals of the student. Next comes his mental 
training and last in importance, and entirely 
as a means to the two great ends, comes disci- 
pline. Every liberty is allowed the student 
;which in the judgment of the school will not 
intrude upon his higher purpose there. But 
discipline is there to check at once any such 
intrusion, because the college knows well that 
discipline is the great outer wall of defense for 
the city of the soul. As soon as students break 
down that wall — and it is the first thing they 
attempt when they desire to dominate — that 
college had better close its gates. It rapidly 
becomes a foul nest for the breeding of mental 
imbecility and moral disease. The Catholic 
college will not permit it for a minute. 



College Days 39 

These paragraphs will sound platitudinous 
to those familiar with the workings of the 
Catholic school. They are put down here to 
indicate briefly to those who do not happen to 
know, what the typical atmosphere is in a 
school of Catholic training. 

Such a school Daniel Coffey chose for his 
classical studies when he decided to go to St. 
Charles' College. It is a compliment to his 
judgment that he elected a school that was bent 
on training, rather than entertaining, its 
pupils. And it is a compliment to the school 
that it appreciated Dan's quality, gave him its 
full training and its degree, and as later years 
abundantly proved, produced a work worthy 
of its best efforts. 

Dan Coffey brought to St. Charles' no mean 
equipment at that. A quick, original yet 
docile mind, a brilliant wit, a steady moral 
character. What he needed was to have these 
deepened, broadened, fused into a single en- 
ergy, focused upon a single ideal. 

"Upon my return to St. Charles' College," 
writes Father William Ryan, of the Archdio- 
cese of Chicago, one of Dan's boyhood and 
lifelong friends, "in 1890, I think it was, I met 
Dan for the first time. As I look back 
through the years, I still can see plainly the 



40 College Days 

Dan of college days — an open-hearted, sincere, 
genial soul. His candid, unreserved, out- 
spoken ways were so distinctive that at times 
he was misunderstood on account of them. 
He was impulsive, some would say tempera- 
mental, but always conscientious. What was 
apparently flippant independence was nothing 
more than the expression of a nature frank 
and free. One always knew just where he 
stood. Subterfuge was not in the make-up 
of his character at any period of his life." 

Another boyhood friend, the Reverend 
James F. Higgins, of the Archdiocese of New 
York, who was, as he says, the "intimate and 
companion" of the Dan Coffey of thirty years 
ago, writes thus of his friend : 

"Our paths diverged on the eve of going 
out into the world, and except for a rare brief 
space, our orbits never crossed again. Thus 
in his years of public life I did not know him 
by personal contact, but I did know him, I 
feel, by the strong intimation his young man- 
hood gave of what his life was likely to be, for 
his character had almost hardened in its mold. 

"The qualities that, I hear from all sides, 
glorified his work as a priest, are precisely the 
qualities that made him conspicuous in his 
young manhood. 



College Days 41 

"There never was a cleaner-hearted boy thaxi 
Dan Coffey. I never observed then nor since 
a deeper, more matured sympathy for his fel- 
lowman in all vicissitudes. I never knew any- 
one to cloak so genuine a seriousness about all 
essentials with so constant a joy of heart and 
such sparkling play of whimsical wit. It is 
true he saw the laugh in everything if the laugh 
were really there. It was not levity; he saw 
deep into the heart of man. Dan never 
laughed at anyone; he laughed with him, as 
seeing in all human foibles a common heritage. 
No child was ever more direct, more without 
duplicity, so transparent. 

"He entered any gathering and was at home 
at once. In five minutes the gathering was at 
home with him and took him to its heart. His 
personality was his entree to any assemblage 
of men or women. What a host he must have 
been in later years ! A stranger, by this title, 
had first claim in his eyes to all the courtesies 
of his graceful hospitality. 

"To be more intimate, what a love he had for 
the Blessed Sacrament and for the Holy 
Mother of God! Not obtruded, sacredly hid 
away ; but to the close view of a friend, clearly 
visible deep in his heart, real, personal. Such 



42 College Days 

is the memory I hold of Dan as he was in his 
early years. 

"If Father Coffey of later years fulfilled 
the promise that winsome Dan Coffey gave in 
his youth, then he must have grown to the full 
stature of the ideal friend of men and the ideal 
priest of God." 

These clever outline sketches of young Cof- 
fey's character bring him up before the mind's 
eye as completely in a few words as a bookful 
of description could do. The character, we 
can see at once, is still in solution, but gives 
distinct promise of the fine crystallization 
that it took on with the years. 

The one strongly outstanding quality, em- 
phasized in every phrase, is at once the loveli- 
est and most reassuring quality of youth — 
openness of soul. "One always knew just 
where he stood. Subterfuge was not in him." 
Candor, sincerity, geniality, frankness, are 
other words lighting up the same ideal and are 
all based upon a genuine personal love of God 
and His Mother. Over and through them all 
played the flash of a brilliant wit. 

Even the limitations indicated are what we 
should normally anticipate. Impulsive out- 
spokenness, independence, a touch of flippancy 
are less limitations than the yet unchecked 



College Days 43 

overflow of good qualities, and are full of 
promise, because back of them we observe the 
check already in operation — Dan was consci- 
entious. This means that he would not repeat 
mistakes along the same line very often. Al- 
together, a character presaging swift energy, 
always above board, with an eager instinct for 
justice, a capacity for winning confidence and 
an irrepressible and sunny wit. 

In the retort of college, Dan was to go 
through the blending, solidifying, reducing 
process that would harmonize all these quali- 
ties and bring them to move as one force. 
Naturally, the first thing that came in for a 
trimming was Dan's wit. 

One of the pet resentments of the modern 
elective system of education is its resentment 
against any kind of " trimming" for the stu- 
dent. "And above all things, to attack wit!" 
they will exclaim, lifting solemnly a theoretic 
hand in a pedagogic horror. "Why trim wit? 
Why freeze the genial current of the soul? 
Why hamper originality? Why flatten the 
sacred effervescence of youth?" 

Any common sense business man would 
puncture this "sob stuff" in a single sentence, 
"Wit should be trimmed for the reason we trim 
anything, rosebushes, beards, apple pies, boats. 



44 College Days 

Trimming makes them look better, grow bet- 
ter, go better." 

Fortunately for Dan Coffey he was in a col- 
lege that made it a business to study boys, and 
to know them individually. Let us observe 
here that in a college of this kind, the college 
learns from the boy just as the boy learns from 
the college. It is impossible for any college 
faculty to come into close and sympathetic con- 
tact with hundreds of boys year after year and 
not to derive from such contact a cumulative 
knowledge of all the winding ways of youth, an 
unfailing instinct in judging whether a boy is 
going up hill or down, and a practical power of 
influencing each boy so as to wean him away 
from evil and urge him to good. A tradi- 
tional manner of handling boys grows into a 
college faculty, a college spirit that perpetu- 
ates itself and improves with time; and it has 
really been derived from the boys themselves. 
The faculty may undergo changes but the 
rooted traditions remain. Individual mem- 
bers of the teaching body may not grasp the 
college spirit, but it will grow around them 
and through them, remaining always fresh, 
active, adaptable to changing conditions. Be- 
cause the constant inflow of new characters 
among the students keeps the faculty just 



College Days A5 

enough on the defensive to let it see when and 
where to attack. 

Out of this perennial contest, for it is nothing 
less, between the faculty and the boy, there 
arises a college spirit in the former the keynote 
of which is a sense of justice toward the boy. 
As a member of several college faculties of this 
type, I have always observed this steady 
trend of fair dealing toward the student. 
Isolated cases may have arisen where fair- 
ness was not evident at the beginning, but 
as the wheels went around, this was invariably 
eliminated and justice arrived for the boy 
at the end, without petting the boy either, 
or making him feel that he was a world con- 
queror. 

Among the things such a college appreciates 
in its boys are wit and humor, the lubricators 
of what were otherwise dry intellectual fric- 
tion grinding the soul to powder. The genu- 
ine college knows that wit and humor are the 
wings of wisdom. Without them no man is 
truly wise. He may be lean, learned and 
lugubrious, but without the luminosity of wit 
his soul yawns before us like an open grave. 
It is the pseudo-educator who would remove 
the merry Maypole dance from the intellectual 
training ground and would blight the blossom- 



46 College Days 

ing of youth by substituting penumbral pac- 
ings around a catafalque. 

All this is far from saying, however, that wit 
should not be trimmed. Unchecked, wit has 
the tendency to be like lightning, brilliant but 
terrifying. It should be more like the aurora 
borealis, flashing up with new and unforseen 
beauty but leaving a glow of pleasure at its 
remembrance. 

In later years Father Coffey spoke with 
gratitude of his training at St. Charles' Col- 
lege. He realized that it was there he got the 
first hints how to direct his wit until it became 
what we all knew it to be in after life, "sure 
fire" under every variety of circumstances, but 
always a joy forever. 

Dan did not need more than a hint to adjust 
himself to the conditions of college life. He 
never needed clubbing to get an idea. His 
mind was so quick, he saw with so swift an 
intuition to the end of any path that a word 
was sufficient to set him in the right direction. 
Once started he never stopped. 

I have heard him say that one wit unchecked 
was enough to ruin a college. The reason is 
obvious. It is one boy in a thousand who is 
genuinely witty. In that same thousand 
there are at least a hundred who think them- 



College Days 47* 

selves witty. These will be merely the crude 
imitators of the leader and nothing can be more 
shocking to the intelligent than the clumsy and 
disorderly fumblings of a "near wit." Like a 
stick of dynamite with a half inch fuse, he 
produces nothing but noise and disastrous 
wreckage. He must be stopped. Indeed, a 
good definition of a college faculty would be 
"a society for the prevention of imaginary 
wit." No boy has anything like a liberal edu- 
cation if he leaves college belonging to the 
class of "near wits." 

For the good of the human race, therefore, 
Daniel was forced frequently to submerge. 
Like a good boat, he obeyed the signals and 
went under, but like a good boat he came up 
again after a sufficient interval and periscoped 
cheerfully about once more. 

I have before me an album filled with choice 
mottoes and signed with the names of school- 
boy friends, many of whom have since become 
distinguished in the Church and in profes- 
sional life. 

It was one of Dan's treasures, kept in his 
desk at Mingo where doubtless he often turned 
over its pages and lived again his boy life 
among his early friends. The introductory 
page holds Dan's personal request: 



48 College Days 

To my friends: 

Kindly inscribe a few lines, that in future 
years I may have that priceless pleasure of 
conversing with those who by their congenial 
society lightened the burdens of my life, whom 
I hope some day to meet face to face in that 
Place where there shall be no separation, but 
eternal bliss and the sweet presence of the God 
of friendship. Christmas, 1890. 

The album is mostly filled with the custom- 
ary good wishes and the conventional advice 
which youth deals out so solemnly in copybook 
fashion, with the "So-live-that-when-thy-sum- 
mons-come-to-join" tone running through it. 
But back of this the human note gives a cricket 
chirp. Off in little corners of the pages are 
mystic dates, cryptic quotations, pass-words to 
hidden storehouses of fun, known only to the 
initiated; so that on many pages after telling 
Dan to be good and he would be happy, and 
adjuring him never, never to be naughty, the 
same hands, apparently, balanced the kite with 
tails like these: "Stop that making chocolate 
in French class"; "Oh, that noisy table for the 

sick boys"; "Remember and the gas jet"4 

"Wait for the wagon"; "What it mean?' 



2». 



College Days 49 

"Coffey, President of the Order of the Royal 
Pull"; "Ah, close your eyes just once"; "Did 
you get the ball, Dan?" 

Each of these panels conceals a story. 
"What it mean?" for example, recalls a very 
delightful French professor, just from 
France, at the college and not yet able to speak 
English. In order to master the language 
with all possible speed, he spent most of the 
time with the boys in their recreations, gravi- 
tating toward those who he heard were expert 
in the English language. In this way he made 
the acquaintance of Daniel Coffey and several 
friends. They not only taught him very well, 
but they likewise ushered him into the inner 
shrine of English, the mysteries of slang. 
Only the Father did not know at the time that 
it was an inner shrine. He found that out 
later. 

Returning to the Fathers' recreation one 
day, he proceeded to reveal his progress. 
3eating himself near one of the Fathers who 
had been suffering from headaches, he said 
sympathetically: 

"Father, how is your swelled head?" 

The Father addressed looked at him in as- 
tonishment. The quick French professor 
noted the look and asked: 



50 College Days 

"What it mean, 'swelled head'? Je veuw 
dire, Comment va voire mat a la tetef 

He was gently told that the word for that 
was not "swelled head" but "headache." 

This was his day for specializing in health 
phrases. So, shortly after, he ventured to 
ask a Father, "And how is vour breadbasket?" 

"Ah," again noting the startled look of the 
Father, "is it not correct, 'breadbasket'? 
What it mean — votre estomacV exclaimed the 
professor. 

After he had told various members of the 
faculty to "take their base," to "keep their shirt 
on" and had confidentially informed the Rector 
that "he made him tired," a quiet little investi- 
gation was started and the trail led to our 
friend Daniel. The class in modern English 
for French professors was discontinued. 

Among contraband gifts to the students 
were meats of any kind. One Thanksgiving 
an enthusiastic relative sent Dan a fine turkey 
and told him it was on the way. Dan, hover- 
ing about the boxes that arrived, lit upon his 
own open box, and there lying in state in the 
center of a wealth of other choice edibles, was 
the most appetizing, oyster-stuffed turkey im- 
aginable. He begged for the turkey as the 
one thing needed for a very weak stomach. 



College Days 51 

"Too bad, Dan/' said the Prefect, "but the 
law is absolute." 

"Ah, come, Father," Dan then laughingly 
said, "just close your eyes this once. I'm go- 
ing to take my turkey." 

"All right," said the Prefect, but with a sin- 
ister note, "but don't let me catch you." 

"I don't intend to," said Dan; and as the 
Prefect turned momentarily aside, Dan 
whipped the turkey under his overcoat and 
hurried away. 

The "Poor Eight" enjoyed a nice turkey 
dinner that night. Later Dan sent his coat to 
the cleaner. The Prefect discovered the joke 
and enjoyed it. 

Although Dan was a recognized leader in 
the innocent fun of the school, he was never 
catalogued, either by the faculty or by the 
boys, as a "professional joker." Back of all 
the laughter and the light so constantly in the 
foreground, they saw the high, aspiring seri- 
ousness of his soul rising heavenward like a 
mountain. 

The judgment of a group of boys upon the 
character of anyone with whom they associate 
familiarly, has about it an uncanny finality of 
truth. A single boy may easily be deceived. 
But a group of boys will flow over and seep 



52 College Days 

under a character like water around a rock. 
With an unconscious daring and a free-and- 
easy unceremoniousness, they will touch every 
angle, probe every shadowy nook and at the 
same moment, with the photographic accuracy 
of an X-ray, they will pluck out the very heart 
of the mystery. Each boy comes away with 
some particular note of the character he has 
explored. Then without premeditation, they 
all meet, pool their separate judgments, fuse 
them by the wizardry of some kind of spiritual 
chemistry, focus the result in a word and shout 
it out to the world for better or for worse. 
And that settles it. They have "sized up" 
their man and tagged him. Fifty years after, 
they will name him by that tag and the chances 
are a hundred to one that the name will fit him 
still. 

Like all the rest, Dan Coffey went through 
the ordeal of search and seizure and he came 
out of it with the nickname "Dean." Among 
his classmates, Dan answered to that name all 
his life. What they really meant by the name 
is clear from the class prophecy, composed and 
read by one of Dan's fellow graduates. After 
distributing his mates along various walks of 
life, business, politics high and low, and the 



College Days 53 

professions, the prophet forecasts Dan's career 
in the following lines: 

Afar and alone on the desert's hot sand, 

With thoughts on his God and his beads in his hand, 

A man lonely roams in excess of devotion, 

His countenance eager, yet graceful his motion. 

Announcing the Gospel, he's piously been 

O'er ocean, up rivers, through forest and fen. 

To heathens he's preached, an Apostle unshod, 

Till the temples of Satan are ruined, downtrod. 

"Veni Creator!" — we list as he sings — 

Through sylvan cathedrals the echoing rings. 

He wanders unawed through dark African mazes 

And chants to his Maker the anthem of praises. 

You're curious, now, that I tell you his name, 

'Tis Daniel from Brooklyn, of cothurnate fame, 

This holy apostle of Africa's shore 

Is Coffey, Dean Coffey — why need I say more? 



CHAPTER V 
SOME LETTERS 

WE have said that it was the fall of 1890 
that Dan entered St. Charles' College. 
To be accurate he went there just before the 
close of school in June. He had been out of 
school a year, undecided as to his vocation. 
As soon as he had made up his mind to go on 
with his studies for the priesthood, he deter- 
mined to begin at once. He arranged with 
the college authorities to study at St. Charles' 
during the summer so as to brush up in his 
work and be ready for a flying start in the 
fall. He writes some of his early impressions 
to his mother. 

St. Charles', June 27, 1890. 
My Dear Mother: 

Your letter was handed me yesterday after 
I arrived home from Baltimore where I had 
been seeing several of my student friends off. 
I felt very happy at hearing of your improve- 

54 



Some Letters 55 

ment. Also that you contemplate going to the 
country. 

When I came up to the college yesterday I 
found four letters waiting me, all from old 
friends. It was like a visit home. 

They were particularly welcome as the stu- 
dents have all gone home with the exception 
of a few seminarians and about sixteen of our- 
selves, who are doing special work here during 
the vacation; so naturally it is somewhat 
gloomy. But as I intend to study hard I shall 
not find time to get blue. 

If you were here you would enjoy seeing the 
many reminiscences of the war — historic old 
bridges, mills, houses all along the roads where 
the soldiers of both armies traveled. It brings 
close up to me the history I studied. 

The country about is charming. A blue 
haze arises from the surrounding hills and these 
send a cool air over the place which makes it 
very healthful. The nights are cool and so far 
I have not slept without a blanket. Yester- 
day and the day before, you would melt in 
Baltimore. It is the hottest city one would 
wish to find. I was glad to get back from it. 

Had you been at the depot to see those two 
hundred and more students bidding each other 
good-by, you would have been amazed. Such 



56 Some Letters 

good friends they are of one another! I, who 
have been at the place three weeks, had as 
much handshaking as if I had been there three 
years. All such a splendid lot of boys. In- 
deed I have made quite a number of friends 
and they are of the first order. 

You ask me if I would like any fruit. My 
general answer, dear ma, to all such requests 
is going to be a shy "Yes." You know we rise 
at five and get breakfast around seven, so you 
can feel how weak Daniel must be at that time ; 
but don't send any of that beef extract. No 
matter what the docs say about it, all I can say 
is that it makes me sick. 

I am hungry and will stop here and attend to 
that. With my love to you and Pa and Kate, 
Joe, Maggie, Barth, Eugene, Jerry, Peter, 
aunts and all the children. 

Your loving 

Daniel. 

One of the characteristics of Daniel's boy 
letters is the long list of names of those whom 
he remembered. He was learning not only 
how to make friends but to hold them with a 
tenacity that grew with the years. 

Boarding school letters are proverbially 
hard things to write. The exterior routine is 



Some Letters 57 

always the same and while the everyday inci- 
dents in a group of several hundred boys are 
sure to be interesting, yet the interest has so 
local an atmosphere that nobody except those 
on the inside can follow the fun. Dan felt this 
and said so. Some of his letters read like 
telegraph dispatches. 

February 26, 1891. 
Dear Mother: 

Your letter reached me this evening and it 
was a treat to hear from you. 

The big object of interest down here at 
present is a snow storm. You see we don't 
go very far in thrills. However, it is a change 
from the rain which has been coming three 
times a week lately. 

I hear our Bishop is dying. I hope it is not 
true. 

I hope you are taking care of your health 
and that Maggie is too. Please tell her not 
to go to any more processions. That's one of 
the best ways of getting pneumonia, standing 
in a lot of slushy snow to see a crowd go by. 
Queer she hasn't seen enough of those things. 

As for news, I am a blank. Since I came 
back it has been merely one thing after an- 
other and all of them the same. 



58 Some Letters 

During Lent here we have nothing outside 
the ordinary services and it seems very little 
like the season as I have been accustomed to it 
at home. However, if we do what is required 
of us, we can hope for the same reward. I 
hope all of you are attending Lenten devotions 
as often as you can. Do not brave danger to 
go, nor go when you are unable. 

I am feeling better than when I wrote be- 
fore, and except for a slight headache now and 
then, I should feel O.K. My love to you and 
to all. 

Your affectionate 
Daniel. 

The headaches Dan mentions here were with 
him most of his life afterward and, though he 
was not aware of it, they presaged the end. 

During the following year Mrs. Coffey's 
health failed somewhat and it was a cause of 
worry to Dan as is shown in a letter to his 
sister. 

St. Charles' College, 

Mar. 2, 1892. 
Dear Joe: 

Many thanks for your generous supply of 
news. It was refreshing to hear of people 



Some Letters 59 

and things up home. I only regret that I can- 
not reciprocate in kind. 

Poor Mother! How often I think of her. 
Not a night, or even any part of the day 
passes that I do not think of her. I am deter- 
mined that she and I shall have a very nice 
time to ourselves all next summer. I shall 
keep clear of all "stragglers." 

When I read of the boys making the mis- 
sion I was delighted. I know they will be 

blessed for it. That Father D cured a 

girl in Boston recently, who had been a cripple 
for years. She and he prayed to Our Lady of 
Perpetual Help and it was not long until she 
was perfectly cured. She is now a nun in a 
convent in Boston. 

Do you know, I felt terrible when I heard 
what happened to poor Mopsy, for I did 
like that dog. 

I am puzzled, Joe, what else to write you 
from this place. You know that nothing hap- 
pens here. I'll say good-by then and send my 
love to Father, Mother, Kate, Maggie and the 
boys, not forgetting the dog and puss. Pray 
to St. Joseph for me. I need his help this 
year so very much. Ask him to help me and 
to grant my special intention. You will see 



60 Some Letters 

that mother does not have anything hard to do, 
like a good girl. With love, 

Daniel, 
One of the traditions, privileges, or, as he 
would put it, one of the "sacred duties" of a 
boarding school boy is to attack the "grub." 
It is one of his favorite indoor and outdoor 
sports. Indoor — implying a fierce dental at- 
tack three times a day. Outdoor — a scathing 
verbal attack on the general theme, "The way 
we suffer." Perhaps it is unfair to limit this 
characteristic to the boarding school boy. 
Any group of men, say in the army or navy, 
who lead a routine life, will make the "grub" 
their main point of attack. During the late 
war, I have seen big men, who left responsible 
positions to enlist, who had never in their lives 
given two thoughts to the matter of food, sit- 
ting in the midst of their mates and "bouncing 
the chow" with a comic viciousness; and they 
were a pink portrait of health at the moment, 
transformed from the sickly civic yellow tint 
they brought with them a few weeks before. 
The boarding school boy, however, has always 
been the recognized champion at this game, the 
only drawback being that his appearance in- 
variably belies his words. Dan contributes a 
punch or two to the great cause. 



Some Letters 61 

St. Charles', December 6, 1892. 
Dear Joe: 

Nothing pleased me more than to hear that 
Jimmie was looking so well. Although I 
should say nothing about the scamp since he 
did not answer my letter of some time ago. 
He dare not plead any excuse. 

'Tis well mother did not send me my plum 
pudding, for it would have gone where the cake 
went. Tell mother the cake went to the 
"poor," so I was not in on it. But if it struck 
any poorer person than myself, he, or she, was 
welcome to it. There is nothing more laugh- 
able than inconsistency. You will be allowed 
candy, which I am not very fond of; and that 
which might give you an appetite is given to 
the "poor." Well, such is life, but there is one 
consolation that life is not stationary. It gets 
a move on it once in a while. 

Ask Kate if she will make me a few sponge 
cakes and send them down for Christmas. 
Even her cooking, or even yours, would go well 
down here. 

I will not ask Maggie to write, since I know 
she has enough to do with her sick one. Tell 
me what is the trouble. I am very anxious to 
know. Nothing serious, I hope. 

My love now to Mother, Pa, Kate, Maggie 



62 Some Letters 

and the boys with yourself, "Flanagan/' not 
forgetting "Chickens." 

Your loving brother, 

Daniel. 

P.S. Since I finished this something hap- 
pened. You know they do not allow us cake 
except at Christmas, so they took mine. Well, 
I said nothing but let them take it ; and I went 
on the sly to good old Kate and she got it for 
me by stealing it from the kitchen; and not 
only the one that was taken but another one 
with it. Such a feast as we had! I have some 
of it yet. Myself and Tim, whom Jimmie 
knows, have our cocoa and lunch all to our- 
selves on holidays. Tim is the organist and 
has a room; hence, I am in it, too. He 
brought a stock with him of all sorts of good 
things with some cocoa, and I with mine, we 
get a pretty good lunch. I often think, 
"What's the use of knocking the grub? It 
comes back at you like a punching bag any- 
way." 

Yours, 

Daniel. 

During the summer of 1893 Daniel visited 
Chicago and the World's Fair. His impres- 



Some Letters 63 

sions are given in a letter to his sister, "Bill," 
mentioned in the letter, is Father William 
Ryan; and "Joe Lynch's place" is the boyhood 
home of the now Right Reverend Joseph 
Lynch, D.D., the present Bishop of Dallas, 
Texas. 

Chicago, August 25, 1893. 
My Dear Josie: 

I suppose you have become weary of postals 
and would enjoy a long letter. This will not 
be a long letter though, because I am so rushed 
that I haven't the time. How did Mother and 
Kate enjoy their sojourn in the mountains? 
And how are "Chickens" and all at home? 
My love to them- one and all. 

On Saturday morning last, Bill and I 
started for St. Joe, Michigan — Joe Lynch's 
place — and remained there till Sunday night, 
crossing the lake both ways. St. Joe is noth- 
ing but fruit farms. Our friend has miles and 
miles of grapes, peaches, pears, berries. All 
we had to do was to go and pluck them, drink 
rich milk and eat homemade bread. Such a 
feast ! / 

We went to St. Joseph's Church in the 
morning. The idea seemed to be that I was 
to sing at the Offertory and Bill was to play; 



64 Some Letters 

but we wouldn't. We saw the whole place 
and returned reluctantly Sunday night; then 
we went to Lemont and thence to a friend's in 
Joliet. Was all through the prison, several 
churches and saw the principal places in the 
town. Bill came up from Lemont in the 
evening. They took us out for a drive, and 
when we returned there was a house full of 
company and we were entertained till all hours. 
Oh, such people! The only way I could tear 
myself from them was to promise that I would 
return for a few days before I left for home. 

Wednesday I took in Milwaukee and came 
down by night boat all through the lake. It 
was glorious. Last night, the Midway Plais- 
ance at the Fair! If you could only see the 
Plaisance! Chinese theaters, Turks, Zulus, 
Igorrotes, every crazy thing in creation. I 
am sore from laughing. To-day is colored 
folks day at the Pair. They are out in 
swarms. I am resting to-day making ready 
for Sunday. 

I suppose things are rushing up home. 
Well, give me Chicago. I like it very much. 
I somehow think I'd like to live here. Per- 
haps I might. I have certainly made many 
friends and I like the city. When I shall re- 
turn has not for a moment given me a thought. 



Some Letters 65 

How long I shall stay seems to be my pre- 
dominating cogitation at present. 

How is Jerry? Give him my love. I'll 
give him something else when I get rich. Has 
Maggie gone to the country? Is she well? I 
do not know why she does not write. I shall 
always remember her exceeding kindness to 
me. 

Send me all the news from dear old Brook- 
lyn, especially of the home. My love to 
Father Hickey and Father Farrell. 

Affectionately, 
Daniel. 



CHAPTER VI 
TOWARD THE ALTAR 

DURING the next six years Daniel 
Coffey moved steadily ahead through 
his studies, the classics, philosophy, theology; 
following the regular course of the candidate 
for the priesthood at St. Mary's, Baltimore, 
a year in Canada, and finally at the University 
of Niagara, New York. His year in Canada 
was necessitated by reasons of health. It was 
partly devoted to teaching English, and it gave 
him valuable help later for the practical direc- 
tion of his school. That he w r as a successful 
professor may be gathered from the following 
sketch, a memory of those days, by the Very 
Reverend Father Charlebois, now the Supe- 
rior General of the Viatorians. He writes: 

"Father Daniel Coffey taught for our Or- 
der at Bourget College, Rigaud, Canada. I 
was then the Superior of the College and 
though it is now a long time ago, I have never 
forgotten the devout, intelligent, active and al- 
ways happy-humored man that Father Coffey 



Toward the Altar 67 

always was. In the midst of the professors he 
had ever ready a word to evoke a smile, or to 
rouse their courage. For life with those 
young professors was not always of a roseate 
hue. 

"These young men were grouped in narrow 
rooms, entirely devoid of the least luxuries in 
furnishings; but they knew how to make the 
most of their surroundings and what was de- 
nied to them in one way they made up in an- 
other. A tone of happiness, contentment, 
even gayety ever prevailed there. As the 
walls which separated their rooms consisted of 
thin board partitions, often their joyous con- 
versations could be heard easily from one end 
of the corridor to the other and at times the 
Superior, passing that way, was called upon 
to check their hilarity. A single word was 
sufficient and never do I remember having to 
give a severe reprimand. An 'All right' 
from Dan was a guarantee for himself and his 
companions. 

"Father Coffey was a genuine professor and 
gave himself heart and soul to his work. He 
loved his pupils and was in turn loved by them. 
Not only was his teaching of a high order, for 
he knew as few do how to make his subject 
matter interesting, agreeable and profitable, 



68 Toward the Altar 

but he was a companion of his pupils, joining 
happily with them in their recreations, thus 
rendering them further service by helping them 
to put into practice what he had taught them 
in class. 

"Of course his principal duty was his per- 
sonal studies, as at this time he was preparing 
for the priesthood, and I must say that neither 
his gayety nor his work for others ever dis- 
tracted Dan Coffey from the end he had in 
view. He wished to be a priest and indeed he 
had all the aptitude and every quality required 
for the priesthood. He knew how to be seri- 
ous and laborious when necessary and he ar- 
rived at his goal, where he proved his ability, 
skill and extraordinary worth. 

"His theological science, added to his keen 
insight into character, was of the utmost prac- 
tical help to the souls in his care; and the art 
of preaching held no secrets from him. 
Father Coffey held important posts and his 
work was admirable. 

"I visited him in 1902 and had the occasion 
to congratulate him upon his success as an ad- 
ministrator, an organizer and a director of 
souls. I found he had accomplished marvelous 
things and I was indeed proud of his success 
in the holy ministry." 



Toward the Altar 69 

It is evident from these words of Father 
Charlebois that the striking many-sidedness of 
Dan Coffey's character was well on the way 
to its perfect growth of after years. He could 
be gay and yet dependable; could interest 
youth in the classroom and, as well, on the 
playground; accept direction, or even correc- 
tion, intelligently and cheerfully; could inter- 
est himself deeply in others and not forget him- 
self and his duties in all their details. The 
"joy of life" had its personification in Daniel 
Coffey. He lived intensely, laboriously, 
swiftly, yet with such a glow and a sparkle and 
a sunniness woven into his work, that an air of 
ease and playfulness made the most difficult 
task seem simple. In the words of one who 
knew him well, "His brilliancy attracted 
friends and his solidity retained them." 

It was with regret, then, that his friends at 
Bourget College saw him depart, to take up his 
theology at Niagara Universit}^. There he 
settled to his work at once. The usual note of 
happy contentment is in his letters. 

Niagara, N. Y., May 17, 1898. 
My Dear Ma: 

I suppose you have me booked as a careless 
lad for keeping you so long without a letter. 



70 Toward the Altar 

I thought I wrote to you last week but discov- 
ered only recently that I had not. How are 
your eyes? I pray the good St. Paul that he 
will be your friend and cure you. There is an 
old man here who has just been cured of a cata- 
ract and now sees as well as ever; and Will 
Ryan writes me of many old people who have 
been cured where he is having his eyes at- 
tended to. Cheer up, now, and when I go 
home we will have our old rambles together. 

I do not know when we shall leave here but 
it will be some time around June 23rd. The 
students seem so happy here that vacation 
never enters their mind. We are living in a 
beautiful place. There are miles and miles of 
blossoming fruit trees and a country far more 
lovely than any I have ever seen. My friends 
tell me that I am looking wonderfully well of 
late. I am waiting for them to tell me that 
I am good looking but they haven't gone that 
far yet. Anyhow I have gained eight pounds 
in the past few months and, thank God, never 
felt better. 

Tell me how you all are at home and how 
the war is using you. It is nothing but war up 
this way and the papers are full of it. The 
country around is draped in the Stars and 
Stripes. 



Toward the Altar 71 

Now, dear, write soon and tell me how your 
eyes are. By the way, did Jerry receive that 
picture of the Maine I sent him? If anyone 
has any spare silver dollars about him, tell him 
to start them rolling this way. I'll stop them 
before they go over the Falls. 

Yours always, 

Daniel. 

The year 1899 brought to a close the long 
years of preparation. In March of this year 
Dan was ordained to the deaconship and on 
May 27th he was made a priest. On the occa- 
sion of his deaconship he wrote the following 
letter to his mother, which reveals depths in 
his soul which, with native reticence, he rarely 
allowed to appear even to those who were 
nearest to him. 

Niagara, N. Y., March 20, 1899. 
My Dear Mother: 

I know you will feel glad and rejoice with 
me on the happiest day of my life. Last Sat- 
urday I was raised to the deaconship and re- 
ceived the Holy Spirit, I hope with all His 
gifts. 

Yes, the happiest day of my life — when 
prostrate at the foot of the altar, I did not 



72 Toward the Altar 

forget you. I offered myself to God to do all 
for Him and I asked that you might be spared 
to me, that He might give you your sight and 
bless you with His best gifts. I prayed for 
Kate to become strong and I know He will 
hear my prayer. I prayed for Father, for Joe 
and Maggie, for Eugene and Barth, for my 
good friend Jerry; for all of you and your 
intentions. 

The most solemn moment of my life was 
when the Bishop placed his hand on my head 
and the stole on my shoulders, called down the 
Holy Ghost upon me and gave me the power 
to touch our Lord in the Holy Sacrament; to 
carry Him in necessity and to serve Him 
purely and chastely. 

I did not even then forget you, and I feel in 
my heart that you and Kate will have your 
health and that the others shall have favors 
from Him in proportion to their needs. I re- 
membered you all in my first Office and I shall 
continue to do so every day. 

The prayer I first came upon in the Office 
was this: "Thy prayers have been heard from 
the beginning, Daniel," said by the Angel 
Gabriel to Daniel the Prophet, but as I look 
over my life I feel that the Angel then spoke 
to me also. 



Toward the Altar 73 

I have but one step to the priesthood. Pray 
for me with all your hearts. Ask God to make 
me strong and ready to do His work. Thank 
Him and His Mother for all they have done; 
and whatever He bids me to do, ask that we 
may all wish according to His will. Love to 
all of you and God bless and keep you. 

Yours with love, 
Daniel. 

Across the top of the page is written: "This 
letter is strictly private, for the family'' 



CHAPTER VII 

EARLY DAYS IN THE 
MINISTRY 

AFTER his ordination Father Coffey was 
sent to St. Dominic's Church, Columbus, 
Ohio, to assist the Reverend Father O'Reilly, 
who had built up single-handed a very fine 
parish in what was then the suburbs of the 
city. Father O'Reilly was not long in seeing 
the capacity of Father Coffey and as he had 
not had a rest for many years, he turned the 
whole management of the parish over to Father 
Coffey after a few weeks, and enjoyed a sum- 
mer's vacation. 

Father Coffey took up the work and follow- 
ing strictly along the lines of the parish 
methods as established by the pastor, became 
so great a favorite with the congregation in a 
few short months that he is vividly and grate- 
fully remembered by the parish, priest and 
people, to this day. On a recent visit there, I 
found those who were children at that time 
still recalling with a smile his happy sayings 

74 



Early Days in the Ministry 75 

and his games with them. The older people 
spoke with deep affection of his many kind- 
nesses, his attentiveness to the sick and the 
sunshine he spread in an already sunny parish. 
Upon the return of Father O'Reilly, Father 
Coffey was given his first official appointment, 
to assist at St. Anthony's Church, Bridgeport, 
Ohio. Father Joseph A. Weigand, the pres- 
ent pastor of the fine parish of the Holy Name 
in Steubenville, was then the pastor in Bridge- 
port. We can get an idea of the year's work 
of Father Coffey there from a letter to his 
mother. 

St. Anthony's Church 
Bridgeport, Ohio, August 31, 1899. 
My Dear Ma: 

Here I am settled in my new home. I left 
Columbus on Saturday last, having been ap- 
pointed to this place. I like it very much and 
am quite happy. Bridgeport is just opposite 
Wheeling, West Virginia, on the Ohio side of 
the river. It is situated in a lovely part of 
the Ohio Valley, and it reminds me very much 
of the cities along the Hudson, mountains and 
valleys and the Ohio River winding all along 
the country for miles. 

Business is rushing this way — glass manu- 



76 Early Days in the Ministry 

facturing, iron mills, the mines and one hun- 
dred other kinds of trades are all on full time. 
All the works that have been idle since the 
panic are again rushing ahead on increased 
wages. The people all seem happy and pros- 
perous. I hope they will continue so. 

The church here is called after St. An- 
thony of Padua. It is a very beautiful church, 
set upon a hill and in the heart of the pines and 
maples. It is of solid brick, nicely decorated 
and over the main altar stands St. Anthony 
who, with the Infant, looks down upon me as 
I say Mass. The picture of Our Lady of Per- 
petual Help and of the Infant of Prague are 
here, too. 

I like the church and the people. Every 
day fresh fruit, butter and vegetables, grapes 
in plenty and anything else that comes in sea- 
son. 

The priest of St. Dominic's was quite 
pleased with my management of things and I 
made many friends among the people. I was 
very much at home there. Tell Miss Josie she 
need not go up to the Swedish church any more 
as St. Anthony at this place will do anything 
she wants. Only that the distance is so great 
I would have Kate, Chickens, Grace and Pa 
come and spend a day with me. 



Early Days in the Ministry 77 

Our school opens on Monday next. Have 
you moved yet? I hope you are all well and 
happy. I said Mass for Barth on Saturday 
last, St. Bartholomew's day, I remember you 
all every day at Mass. 

Yours with love, 
Daniel. 

Father Coffey took a short trip to New 
York shortly after this and upon his return 
wrote the following note to his mother. 

Bridgeport^ October 12, 1899. 
My Dear Ma: 

I suppose you received my postal. I am 
safely back and the people are glad I returned. 
The children of the school prepared a little 
entertainment of welcome, and I was received 
with great applause from the little ones — a 
regular Dewey reception. The Sisters, too, 
were glad to see me and surprised me with a 
very pretty surplice. Lasso, my dog, took a 
whole day to show his welcome. He is with 
me all the time. 

I was glad to get back from the noise of New 
York. The hills all about are tinged with the 
frosts of autumn and the weather is charming. 
The people are working hard for the fair and I 



78 Early Days in the Ministry 

think they have nearly five hundred dollars in 
money and articles. I am giving a course of 
instructions every Wednesday night on the 
Rosary and intend to start one on the Mass 
Sunday evenings. 

I enjoyed those buns. I passed them 
around to advertise you and everyone thought 
they were lovely. My love to all at home. I 
have not forgotten any of you in my Masses 
and you I remember especially. 

With love, 
Daniel. 

The following year Father Coffey was as- 
signed to organize a parish in Barnesville, 
Ohio, and there he began his work as a pastor. 
It was a really a reorganizing that he had be- 
fore him. A parish had been started in the 
town some years before, but a series of 
setbacks had so paralyzed its activities 
that for a time previous to Father Cof- 
fejr's coming no priest had been assigned 
to the place. It had been a small congrega- 
tion dependent upon a glass works for employ- 
ment, and as these had been in operation only 
a few months of the year during the several 
years previous, the people had necessarily be- 
come transients. On the heels of these woes, 



Early Days in the Ministry 79 

the church burned down. There were no 
funds to rebuild and a death-like state of coma 
followed. Father Coffey was asked to revi- 
vify the corpse. 

It wasn't much of a prospect that he faced 
the summer afternoon he left the train and 
started for the top of the highest hill in the 
neighborhood. For that was where his resi- 
dence was to be. He climbed the hill to his 
house and took an inventory, to wit: 

Item — One house, warped into a clever imi- 
tation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. 

Item — One cemetery; weed-grown and ne- 
glected; tombstones peering spookily over 
tangles of reeds and long grass. "It was the 
most realistic cemetery I ever lived in," said 
Father Dan. "You could be sure they were 
dead in there, or they would never have stood 
for the treatment they were getting." 

Item — One large heap of blackened beams, 
timbers, half-burned boards, chimney bricks 
and broken glass that used to be a church. 
Beyond these, on all sides around him — the 
horizon. 

"I was like St. Simon Stylites," he used to 
say in describing it, "alone on the top of a 
pillar. Only if I remember rightly, St. Simon 
used to have a crowd of live persons gathered 



80 Early Days in the Ministry 

at the foot of the pillar. All I had around 
me were dead ones." 

The records by no means tell us, however, 
that Father Dan sat dolorously down on the 
threshold of his house and burying his face in 
his hands, gave one long melodramatic moan 
over all sad things that were and that were yet 
to be. Tears, idle tears, were never a part 
of his program. 

The first thing he did was to start "into the 
jungle" as he called it, to hunt up his parish- 
ioners. He liked them, liked everything they 
did. He praised their town, their little homes, 
their work. He got close to the children, had 
them all by their first names, Jack, Billy, Mar- 
garet, Mary, until in a minute they were no 
more afraid of him than they were of each 
other. He even praised the church, what was 
left of it. "What a wonderful location it has!" 
he said, with a hidden meaning, we suspect, in 
the word "wonderful." Before the people 
knew it he had stolen into their hearts. 

Then he invited his friends among the clergy 
to visit him. "Come," he wrote, "and enjoy 
the rare atmosphere and the marvelous view. 
It's like living in a balloon. If you have never 
made a pilgrimage in your life, now is the 
time. Come to the Holy Hill." 



Early Days in the Ministry 81 

On spare days they visited him. He showed 
them over the house. "After living in this 
house a week/' he said, "you could walk a 
tight rope in a circus." He took them outside 
for the view. 

"A beautiful location for a church!" he com- 
mented. "Here you have a commanding view 
of whole counties at a glance. With the aid 
of a spyglass I can see in a second just how 
my parish is going; and in case of a flood, 
they'll all come to church. They're certain 
to be safe here. Sure, the Catholics of Barnes- 
ville are favored above all. Dead or alive, 
they're nearer heaven." 

Of course, he would admit, with apparent 
reluctance, what he termed "the natural draw- 
backs." In summer it was too hot for the par- 
ishioners to climb the hill and in winter it was 
too slippery for them even to attempt it. 

After this, Father Coffey would take his 
visitor out to call on the people. When they 
saw so many priests coming to Barnesville, 
they were amazed. They had not been aware 
that their town was so important. They had 
thought that not one priest could live in 
Barnesville. Now they saw them making pil- 
grimages to the place. 

Meantime Father Coffey was on the watch. 



82 Early Days in the Ministry 

At first he said Mass in his house, which under 
the conditions was sufficiently large to answer 
the needs of that portion of the congregation 
who could get there. To answer the conveni- 
ence of all his people, however, he must have 
a more central and accessible location. The 
only place he could possibly find was a large 
store in the town. It had been to let for so 
long a time that only tradition told of a tenant. 

Father Coffey rented the place and it did 
not take him long to find the source of the tra- 
dition. Up to this time his troubles had come 
from above. Now they began to come from 
below. Barnes ville is somewhat of a railroad 
town and directly underneath his "church" ran 
a net of tracks, with switch engines, freight 
and passenger locomotives dashing and pant- 
ing and puffing and whistling constantly. 
The "church" was built out over the railroad's 
right of way. 

The first Sunday there, Father Coffey said a 
High Mass, and though he had a much better 
congregation than up on the hill, the noise of 
the trains was frightful. 

"I hope the Lord will forgive me for bring- 
ing Him to such a place," said Father Dan, 
speaking to a brother priest a few days after. 
"I never felt so guilty; it was like a burlesque 



Early Days in the Ministry 83 

on the ceremonies of the Church. I sang the 
'Dominus vobiscum? and I was answered by a 
whistle that was inspired by Lucifer. I 
started to preach and tons of smoke rolled in 
through the windows until I couldn't see my 
congregation and every time I breathed I 
nearly choked. It didn't seem like ordinary 
smoke, either. It came up from the lower 
regions. I began the Preface and they began 
ringing bells down below me that gave me the 
distracting thought, 'If you weren't cast in 
hell, you ought to be.' I'll never forget that 
terrible morning and I hope God will forgive 
me, for He knows I didn't mean it. But that 
place is impossible." 

Father Dan had the great gift of tunneling 
in the dark and of singing as he tunneled. He 
needed every bit of his gift to make the right 
start in Barnesville. He began looking for 
another spot for his church. Ultimately, he 
knew, he would have to build. The thing to 
do was to acquire a building site. He looked 
over the town and found a site just suited for 
a church and a house. This piece of ground 
had been listed for sale and the price adver- 
tised. Father Coffey called on the owner who 
had the reputation in the town of being rather 
too shrewd. Father Dan was not aware of 



84 Early Days in the Ministry 

this at the time so he told his sad story fully 
to the owner. 

"We are forced to buy," he concluded, "but 
our location here will be a good thing for you, 
also. It will bring Catholics around the 
church and thus enable you to sell your other 
holdings. 

"Yes, I see," replied the owner; "and I 
shall do what I can, Father ; but property has 
gone up rapidly just lately and the best price 

I can make for you is " and he named a 

price hundreds of dollars above the listed price. 

Father Dan said not a word but started out 
of the office. He was followed to the door by 
the owner. 

"Just a moment, Father," said he. "Con- 
sidering what you have said, I think I may be 
able to — er — adjust that price. How about 
?" and he named the original listed price. 

"I wouldn't take it from you now as a gift," 
said Father Dan and he left the office. 

Quite by accident Father Dan met a friend 
in a neighboring city where he happened to be 
visiting, and their conversation drifted to the 
recently attempted purchase of the building 
lot and of the apparently final failure. 

"I am very glad you tell me all this," said 
the friend. "I happen just now to be buying 



Early Days in the Ministry 85 

land in Barnes ville myself and if I mistake not 
we have had in view, among other pieces, the 
precise lots you describe. If we can get them 
they are yours at the price we pay for them." 

Within a week Father Coffey had the lots 
and at a much lower figure than the original 
offer. He did not take much pains, either, to 
keep the particulars of the deal a secret. The 
whole town knew it in a few days and the stock 
of the Catholic priest jumped several points 
for his outwitting of the "sharpest man in 
town." 

"It was all luck and no sense," said Father 
Dan; "but I'd rather have luck than sense. It 
proves that the Lord is with the simple," and he 
assumed a canonized look of childlike naivete 
which more than hinted that he had at least 
sense enough to enjoy his luck. 



CHAPTER VIII 
ANOTHER TUNNEL 

FATHER DAN had dug the first tunnel 
through, only to face another and, appar- 
ently, a rockier prospect. What about a 
church 7 

* could not at this time ask his people to 
uuild a church. They did not have the money. 
As we have said, the congregation was small, 
the work at the glass factory intermittent. 
They had all they could do to tide themselves 
across the "slack" periods. 

Father Dan offered many prayers to Our 
Lady of Perpetual Help, watching while he 
prayed. He discovered that the Methodists 
of the town had plans for a new church and 
were offering the old church at a mere kind- 
ling-wood price. Father Dan looked over the 
building and saw he could easily transform it 
into a church well suited to his needs. 

"It was a great chance to get something for 
nothing," he said. 

86 



Another Tunnel 87 

He bought the church, the pews, lectern, 
organ and bell. After the place had passed 
into Father Coffey's hands, the vacating con- 
gregation asked him if they might have few 
farewell reunions for the sake of old times. 
Permission was readily granted and they had 
three reunions. The children had one, the 
young men and women another, and finally the 
old people gathered for a last meeting in the 
old church. It was purely a social meeting. 
Father Coffey was invited to attend and he did, 
mingling in his happy way with all the guests. 
At the close he was invited to say a few words. 
He mounted a platform and said : 

"My dear friends, it is and always will be 
a great pleasure to me to know you and re- 
member you. It is an equal pleasure to think 
that you have contributed as you have done, to 
the Catholic Church, and I am sure God will 
bless you for it. I shall pray often for you all 
at Mass in this church and one of the blessings 
I am going to ask for you is that when you 
have your new church finished, you will do 
just what you have done here — invite me and 
my congregation to take it over, remain with 
us yourselves and we'll all be Catholics to- 
gether, 'one Church and one Shepherd.' 
Whatever you do, though, you will not forget 



88 Another Tunnel 

that to-night you are witnessing the unheard- 
of situation of a Catholic priest being pastor 
of the Catholic and the Methodist churches at 
the same time, as is evidenced from the 'power 
of the keys' I have here before you." And he 
held up the keys of the church. 

The old Methodist residents of the town still 
remember that night and that speech. 

Everything now looked bright. A house- 
mover was called in, measurements were taken, 
figures given on the moving proposition. 
Suddenly another rock rose right up in the 
middle of the stream — an impassable rock. 
The house-mover met him at the church one 
day and flattened the jubilant pastor by 
saying : 

"Sorry, Father, but we can't move this 
church." 

"In the name of God, why not?" gasped 
Father Dan. 

"The measurements show that the streets are 
entirely too narrow for it. We can't begin to 
think of moving it." 

"Don't talk to me," said Father Dan. 
"Leave me, or I'll say something terrible about 
you and the streets of Barnesville and the peo- 
ple who made them." 

Father Ryan of Chicago, was visiting with 



Another Turmel 89 

him at this time in his hilltop house. He saw 
Father Coffey coming up the hill so slowly 
that he guessed something had happened. 

"It's all over," said Father Dan, looking 
tragically into space, and he told the worst. 

"I had a white church on my hands," he con- 
cluded, "but I'll swear someone has turned it 
into a white elephant." 

After a melancholy evening together they 
went to bed. In the early hours of the morn- 
ing, Father Ryan was awakened by a series of 
vigorous thumpings and a voice calling, 

"Wake up, wake up !" 

"What for? what for;?" answered Father 
Ryan, grand opera fashion, thinking at the 
same moment of fire, flood and volcanoes. 

"I've got an idea," said the voice, recognized 
now as Father Dan's. 

"That's worth waking up for," said Father 
Ryan. "What can it be? " 

"I've been thinking," continued Father Dan. 
"I haven't the authority to widen those streets, 
but I'll wager we can narrow that church by 
cutting it in two and driving it tandem down 
to the new place. It's a go!" 

It was a "go." The house-mover was re- 
called. At first he was amazed at the notion, 
but soon he saw that it was entirely practicable. 



90 Another Tunnel 

The church was cut in half and moved easily 
along the narrow streets of Barnesville. 

Meantime twenty feet were added to the 
foundation. The two pieces were hitched to- 
gether again, the addition built and in a very 
short time all was ready for the dedication. It 
is a beautiful little church to-day. 

In the same period, the congregation built a 
fine rectory and the prosperity of the parish 
was mounting to the crest. 

Father Coffey was very happy in Barnes- 
ville as his letters show. 

St. Maby's of the Assumption 
Baknesville, Ohio, 
August 14, 1901. 
Dear Ma: 

Your letter came last week and shortly af- 
ter came Father Harvey. I was delighted to 
see him and to learn you were all well. 

We are rushing things along for the church 
and so far I am quite pleased with the work. 
The people of the town, both Protestant and 
Catholic, are surprised that in a few months 
so much has been done. I intend to have it 
painted, decorated and ready before the fall. 
If possible, I will then go to Brooklyn and 
bring you out here. 



Another Turmel 91 

Frank was greatly surprised at the beauty of 
our city here; and he could not get over my 
swell house. He preached a beautiful sermon 
for me Sunday last. 

I wish I had you here. You would enjoy it, 
I am sure. The fruit is ripening and the 
weather becoming cool. Write to me soon. I 
will let you know later about the beds from 
Bergemot. Love to all. 

Daniel. 

The next letter reflects the troubles he had 
with his "divided" church. 

St. Mary's of the Assumption 
Barnesville, Ohio, 
September 5, 1901. 
Dear Ma: 

Josie's letter of some days ago at hand. I 
am quite busy here and shall have to postpone 
my little trip to Atlantic City and Cape May 
until I see my way out of these difficulties. 

The delays in the work have put back the 
dedication of my church and at present I can- 
not tell when it will be ready. However, as 
I must wait, there is no use in worrying. 
I heard from Father Hickey the other day. 
Our peach crop here is most abundant. My 



92 Another Tunnel 

peaches are dropping from the trees. I have 
more than I can use. My grapes are pretty 
nearly ripe and I intend to make grape wine 
next week. I wish you were here to enjoy this 
lovely autumn. 

I will soon need a housekeeper, as the one 
I have intends to leave. Do you know where 
I could get a good, clean person for the fall? 
I want none who cough over the stove or wash 
their faces in the dishpan. The person must 
be neat, tidy around the house, be at home all 
the time and free from all care. ]Vo bedbugs 
will be allowed in the house. The salary will 
be first class for a first class person but no 
slovens need apply. 

Love to all. 

Daniel. 

The jubilant note returns in the following 
letter when all the wrinkles in the hitherto try- 
ing situation seem to be ironed out. 

St. Mary's of the Assumption 
Barnesville, Ohio. 
Dear Josie: 

Your letter at hand and I admit I was rather 
hasty; but I've had enough to bother me here 
without annoyance from all points of the globe. 



Another Tunnel 93 

Larry and his wife came this morning to my 
delight. They were greatly surprised at the 
beauty of my home and could not believe that I 
was only a year here to-day. I tell you my 
house is a beauty. 

Last night we had a lawn fete on our lawn 
and I had all the "swell" people of the town in 
attendance. The church was moved without 
a break and already they are starting to put 
the roof on it. It is the wonder of the town 
that we could move it and have everything in 
shape so soon. The man who moved the 
church gave me the price of a magnificent 
statue of the Sacred Heart. 

Everything is going lovely and soon we will 
have a church such as our congregation de- 
serves. I had a picture "Before" and I'll have 
one taken "After." I'll send them home. 

Already I am to have four marriages and as 
soon as the church is finished I expect more. 
This is a great town for marriages and I am 
doing all I can to encourage the good work. 
Larry and his wife will stay here over Sunday. 
I have plenty of room. 

Where I live would remind you of Bay 
Ridge, with rows of beautiful summer homes. 
The housekeeper I now have reminds me very 
much of you. Wherever she puts anything no 



94 Another Tunnel 

one else can find it. She is very careful of the 
house, though, and very neat; which also re- 
minds me of you, I must say. 

Tell ma I have a lovely room for her if she 
will come. Love to all. 

Daniel. 



The little congregation blossomed and 
bloomed, growing in age and grace and wis- 
dom before God and man. Once the waters 
started flowing they rippled on joyously, and 
Father Coffey always recalled his four years 
there with something like merriment. As 
later in Mingo, he was known to the whole 
town and country around and every memory 
they have of him to-day, people of all creeds, is 
a memory of admiration and affection, with the 
affection predominant. 

It was in Barnesville in 1901, that the emi- 
nent traveler and lecturer, John L. Stoddard, 
first met Father Coffey and their friendship 
lasted until the end. The following sprightly 
poem, an invitation in verse to Father Coffey 
to visit the author in his Tyrolean villa, was 
regarded by Father Coffey as one of his cher- 
ished souvenirs and it was found, carefully 
saved, after his death. 



Another Turmel 95 

Villa Pomona, Meran, Tyrol 
Jan, 20, 1905, 

Dear Friend and Father 

You know I'd rather 
Talk with you freely and face to face ; 

But no resistance 

Can vanquish distance 
When separated by so much space. 

So I'm inditing 

This bit of writing 
To send this morning from sweet Meran 

Direct to Mingo 

(Queer name, by Jingo!) 
And may it find you a happy man ! 

Will's crossed the ocean ! 

With deep emotion 
We saw him leaving the halting train; 

His mammoth shoulders, 

Like mountain boulders, 
Caused many natives to look again. 

He cried out "Sister," 

And ran and kissed her 
And laughing said, as he squeezed my hand, 

"Thank God, I'm hearing 

In tones endearing 
The mother tongue of my native land ! 

To saints be glory, 
I'm hunky-dory! 
I've safely traversed the ocean blue! 



96 Another Tunnel 

No homesick feeling 
Is o'er me stealing, 
For just at present my home's with you." 

And so by working 

And never shirking, 
He's learned already to typewrite well; 

His face is ruddy 

Despite his study; 
How much he's learning, 'tis time will tell. 

Forgive this lingo, 

And leave old Mingo, 
And cross the ocean to fair Tyrol! 

A short vacation 

For recreation 
Will re-create you in mind and soul. 

We three will meet you, 

And warmly greet you, 
And show you mountains of dazzling snow, 

And lovely flowers, 

And Roman towers, 
And much more also, before you'd go. 

And if you're able, 

A billiard table 
You could be using from morn till night, 

Or else be reading 

The books you're needing; 
I have two thousand — a welcome sight ! 






Another Tunnel 97 

So, Friend and Father, 
Your ducats gather, 
And buy a ticket across the sea 
To entertain you 
And never pain you 
This friendly trio will guarantee. 

Yours cordially, 

John L. Stoddard. 

Father Coffey had been in Mingo Junction 
two months when this letter was written, being 
transferred by his Bishop to St. Agnes' 
Church there in November, 1904. 



CHAPTER IX 
THE MILLS OF MEN 

IF you travel by rail eastward out of Deni- 
son, Ohio, you will observe the grade stead- 
ily rising toward the hills along the Ohio River. 
If your journey is by night, then after the last 
upward plunge of the train, you sweep around 
a quick, dipping curve, out of the dark rocky 
gaps and the black woods on either hand, into 
what at first glance looks like a night scene in 
fairy land. 

Thousands of lights, like fireflies, pick out 
the inky blackness. Along both sides of the 
river, far as the eye can reach, the scene is that 
of a vast summer garden, hung with Japanese 
lanterns. Here and there, great bursts of 
luminous smoke and vapor, copper-colored and 
pink and purplish white, rise into the air like 
huge flowered fireworks. A stranger to this 
locality might suppose it to be a spacious pleas- 
ure park until as he looked he would see a huge 
serpent of fire uncoil from some hidden nest 
and fling himself venomously up into the night, 

98 



The Mills of Men 99 

stabbing at the darkness with swift tongues 
of flame. And in the glare that lit up the 
scene for a moment, he could see that it was 
very far from being a garden of pleasure. He 
has been looking at the electric lights and the 
furnace fires of the mills and factories of 
Mingo. 

The Ohio Valley, meaning by that word the 
northeastern portion of Ohio, is probably the 
busiest spot on earth. From Pittsburgh down 
to Wheeling on both sides of the Ohio, there 
is one crowding succession of iron foundries, 
glass factories, steel mills, coal mines, tin 
works, potteries, oil wells. Within arm's 
reach all around these are the great plants for 
the manufacture of automobile tires and all 
manner of accessories. This entire system 
goes day and night, without intermission. It 
is labor on an epic scale. A bird's-eye view of 
the district would make Homer look about for 
new similes to visualize multitudes in action; 
and a "close-up" would very likely give Mil- 
ton some further ideas for the early books of 
Paradise Lost and even send Dante back to 
retouch his Inferno. 

Mingo Junction gives us as good a cross sec- 
tion of the Valley as any we could have. It is 
not as large a town as many others in the dis- 



100 The Mills of Men 

trict, numbering about five thousand persons; 
but it is decidedly typical of the whole region. 
It is built right along the Ohio. The flat land 
close to the river's bank is taken up, every foot 
of it, by mills and railroad tracks, with just 
enough room for a narrow and winding busi- 
ness street to squeeze itself in against the hills. 
An interurban car, connecting Steubenville 
and Brilliant, some four miles on either side, 
runs down this Main Street of Mingo, lined 
with grocery and clothing stores, meat and 
vegetable markets, restaurants, real estate of- 
fices, garages, a hotel, a postoffice, a bank. 

The rest of the town scrambles on its hands 
and knees to the top of the steep rise. Houses 
dropped in on every little level spot, after such 
fashion that one may stand on one's front porch 
and look down on the roof of one's neighbor's 
house. Streets make themselves as they may, 
twisting in and out but always up. Longfel- 
low should have seen Mingo before he wrote 
his "Excelsior." If there were any eagles 
about they would be jealous of the Mingo folk. 
"Going up" is the town slogan. It reminds 
me of the Arkansas farmer who fell out of his 
cornfield and broke his neck. If a Mingo man 
fell out of his back yard a searching party 
would have to go after him. 



The Mills of Men 101 

When we have said this much against Mingo 
(rather in its favor, as indicating the gritty, 
mountaineer spirit of its citizens) we have said 
everything that can be brought against it. 
For its people recall the pleasantest memories 
I retain after many years of travel. 

Twenty years ago these people did not know 
one another. There was plenty of reason for 
that. They belonged to more than twenty 
different nationalities. It is the same to-day. 
Recently the General Manager of the Mingo 
Steel Works, Mr. George Wisener, gave me 
this official classification of the nationalities 
employed in his mill: Americans, 697; English, 
20; Irish, 14; Scotch, 3; Serbians, 57; Bul- 
garians, 16; Slovaks, 255; Polish, 12; Rus- 
sians, 8; Croatians, 4; Austrians, 19; Hungar- 
ians, 18; Italians, 218; Spanish, 6; Rouman- 
ian, 1; Mexican, 1; Germans, 10; Swedes, 3; 
Negroes, 52 ; Danish, 1 ; Greeks, 3 ; Macedon- 
ian, 1. Total — 1419, distributed among 
twenty-two nationalities. It is fair to assume 
that the same proportions will be found 
throughout the district. A large percentage 
of these is Catholic. 

Differing in language, customs, traditions, 
often, too, with the inherited national antipa- 
thies; shy, with the shyness of the newcomer 



102 The Mills of Men 

to strange surroundings ; forced to the limit of 
their power to toil for the support of large 
families, it is not hard to see that they had at 
first neither the inclination nor the time to try 
to understand one another. It was this prob- 
lem of America's melting pot that Father Cof- 
fey faced when he came to Mingo in Novem- 
ber, 1904. 

The problem came before him in an acute 
form, moreover. In the larger cities these 
nationalities spread more. They form groups, 
locate in distinct sections, have priests of their 
own separate tongues to care for the spiritual 
welfare of each nationality. In Mingo it w r as 
not thus. Father Coffey was the single pas- 
tor assigned to the entire field. To make 
every one of these people feel welcome to the 
Church, to the country ; to bring them together 
understandingly ; to have them pray together, 
work together, live their social life together; 
in short, to make a happy and holy family out 
of these scattered and often hostile units — this 
was the life work that Father Dan took up in 
Mingo. He had to assemble these disjoined 
pieces into the spiritual kaleidoscope and to 
weave them into lasting patterns of divine 
beauty. How well he succeeded may be 
judged from the tribute of one who watched 






The Mills of Men 103 

his work, who said after Father Coffey's 
death, "The parish of Mingo during Father 
Coffey's incumbency was a veritable little king- 
dom of love." 

He knew none of the languages native to 
these foreigners, and beyond the dash of a 
phrase picked up from one or another, he never 
learned any of their tongues. Indeed, he did 
not have the time for it. When Father Coffey 
arrived in Mingo, he found the financial, the 
social and the religious problems so compli- 
cated and so pressing that anything like the 
leisure for language learning was out of the 
question. To most men this would have been 
a discouraging handicap, but it never even 
bothered Father Coffey. 

"How did you get to handle these people in 
the beginning without knowing how to talk to 
them?" I asked him on one occasion. 

"I went around and made nice faces at 
them," he answered. "When they saw I liked 
them, they wanted to talk to me, and they had 
to learn English to do it. Now we splash 
along in fine style. Of course, from the very 
start I always had priests to come to St. Agnes' 
and hear the confessions of all who could not 
go in English." 

That was the cue to all Father Coffey's sue- 



104 The Mills of Men 

cess with his people — he "liked" them. More 
than that, he loved them and they knew it. As 
Father Thomas Powers finely says in his mem- 
orial booklet : 

"When there is question of duty and human- 
ity the priest, like the sunbeam, is a native of 
every sky; and so, Father Coffey was to the 
foreigner, of whom there were many in his 
congregation, a father and a friend. He did 
not learn their language, it is true, but he 
came closer to their hearts by studying their 
needs and speaking to them in the universal 
language of kindly helpfulness." 

Of course the American portion of St. 
Agnes' parish was hand in hand with Father 
Coffey from the start ; but he was not satisfied 
with this. He must have the whole congre- 
gation, down to the last man, woman and child 
clasping hands all around. He followed the 
practical idea of proving to these people that 
he wanted them by efficiently helping them in 
their work. 

A fortunate incident occurred at this time 
which opened the way to him. One day there 
was handed in to Mr. Wisener, in his office in 
the mills, a letter, complaining of a shortage 
in pay. It was brought by an Italian, who 
could not explain himself well in English. 



The Mills of Men 105 

The letter was so well written, both as to com- 
position and penmanship, that it attracted the 
attention of Mr. Wisener. 

"Who wrote this letter?" he inquired. 

"The little daughter in the boarding house 
where I stay," was the answer. 

"I can hardly believe it," said Mr. Wisener. 
After settling the complaint satisfactorily, he 
said, "Have that little girl sent to the office." 

In a short time Mary, twelve years of age, 
appeared and was shown into the office. 

"Did you write this, Mary?" asked the man- 
ager, showing her the letter. 

"Yes, sir," said Mary. 

"Let me see how you do it," said the manager 
and he gave her a pen and some paper. "Copy 
this for me, please." 

Mary took the pen and made a beautiful 
copy of the lines Mr. Wisener had placed be- 
fore her. 

"What school do you go to, Mary?" asked 
he. 

"I go to St. Agnes' School, sir," replied 
Mary. 

"Do the Sisters teach you this?" 

"Yes, sir," said Mary. "They teach me 
everything." 

"You are going to a good school, Mary," 



106 The Mills of Men 

said Mr. Wisener, and he dismissed her with 
a present of a half dollar. 

This incident reached Father Coffey. With 
the sure instinct that was his, he saw at once 
that he had a future friend in the head of the 
steel works, a man who saw beyond the mill 
exits and realized that there was more in any 
man than mere labor, and that labor problems 
will never be settled by way of the pocket but 
by way of the heart. Father Dan was not 
strong for "future" friends, however. He in- 
sisted on having them in the present tense and 
keeping them there. He called on Mr. Wise- 
ner and invited him to visit the school, naming 
a date when there was to be a distribution of 
prizes and a little entertainment. 

"I won't ask you to make a speech, Mr. 
Wisener," said Father Coffey, "but if vou 
would like to donate any prizes to the children, 
I shall see that they are given out with my own 
hands." 

Both invitations were accepted. Mr. Wise- 
ner sent to the rectory a check for twenty-five 
dollars to be turned into twenty-five prizes for 
the children "who had done the best work." 
On the day appointed he was there among the 
guests of the school. A pretty entertainment 
was given and the distribution of the prizes be- 



The Mills of Men 107 

gan. As it proceeded, Mr. Wisener noted that 
they went beyond twenty-five and up to thirty- 
five. At the intermission he called Father 
Coffey and said: 

"There were more than twenty-five prizes, 
weren't there?" 

"Yes, Mr. Wisener," said Father Coffey, 
entirely unabashed, "but there is so much 'best' 
work in St. Agnes' School that I had to put in 
ten dollars of my own for extra prizes." 

"Oh, no, that won't do at all," said Mr. 
Wisener, "this is my day at the school and it's 
all the prizes or none." 

"Well, since you insist," said Father Coffey, 
with mock reluctance, "I shall withdraw my 
ten — with regret." And he took a check for 
another ten dollars. Mr. Wisener was lured 
into a speech besides. 

This was the beginning of an entente 
cordiale between the head of St. Agnes' parish 
and the head of the steel works, which lasts to 
the present hour. The results of genuine co- 
operation are evident. Socialism never got 
the least foothold in Mingo. The propagand- 
ists made headway in other districts near by; 
they tried Mingo time and again but they 
flitted out as fast as they flitted in. Father 
Coffey watched his people with affectionate 



108 The Mills of Men 

care, instructed them in groups, knew person- 
ally every individual in his parish and thus an- 
ticipated every danger that threatened them. 
He was at the fountain head of every move- 
ment in the parish. During the eleven years 
of his pastorate there was not a single strike, 
and there has been none since. 

One of the methods used by the Socialists to 
breed discontent was an attempted spread of 
the Menace through the works. The sheet 
was mailed to the men in their homes, put into 
the pockets of their working coats, left about 
in corners where they could be picked up — 
all this secretly and unknown to the authori- 
ties at the mill. Father Coffey found it out 
and immediately went to them with a com- 
plaint. His people were being attacked for 
their religion and the edge of discontent was 
splitting the men apart. 

An order was at once given to have this 
propaganda stopped and the announcement 
was made that the first person discovered dis- 
tributing the Menace would be discharged per- 
manently. The trouble ended in the mill. 

But Father Coffey did not stop there. It 
was known that the mailing of the Menace 
had been done in a nearby town. He set him- 
self to discover who was responsible for this. 



The Mills of Men 109 

One day he was hurrying to catch a car from 
this town for home. His arms were filled with 
bundles — he seldom returned home without 
bundles, picked up, as we shall see, every- 
where — as he was met by a friend who stopped 
him and said: 

"Father Coffey, I have found out the man 
who has been mailing that Menace" 

"Who is he?" asked Father Dan. 

The surprising answer came with the name 
of a man whom Father Coffey had done busi- 
ness with for years, who had often expressed 
a warm admiration for him. 

"Is that so?" said he. He walked into a 
store before him, put down the bundles on the 
counter, said, "Please watch these for me," and 
walked rapidly down the street to the business 
place of the man whose name had been given 
him. 

"Is Mr. Blank here?" he asked, so as to be 
heard plainly in the store. 

Mr. Blank was in his office. He came out 
and seeing Father Coffey, came forward ef- 
fusively, holding out his hand. 

"Father Coffey! " he said. "I am delighted 
to see you. How are you?" 

"Quite well," said Father Coffey. "But I 
won't shake hands with you now. I have just 



110 The Mills of Men 

been told, Mr. Blank, that you are the chief 
distributor of the Menace in this town and in 
our town of Mingo. I don't like to think this 
of you. But let me tell you something. I'm 
trying to raise funds to build a little Catholic 
church for my poor people and 'A. P. A.' 
money looks just as good to me as any other 
kind. That's all I have to say to you at pres- 
ent." Turning on his heel he walked rapidly 
out of the store. 

Two days later he received a substantial 
check from Mr. Blank to be applied to the 
church. 

" We'll call this the slush fund," he said, 
"but we'll make even the devil help to build 
the Catholic church." 

Times there w r ere, too, when the men them- 
selves were to blame for their troubles. 
Nearly always the cause was drink. Father 
Coffey was not opposed to the workingman 
having his glass of beer; but he came down 
heavily on the whiskey drinker and the sot. If 
he discovered a man intoxicated he would rid- 
dle him with so fierce a fire of sarcastic scorn 
that he often stung him sober. 

"Lo, Father Coffey!" mumbled a maudlin 
fellow to him one day in the street, "gladda see 
ya!" 



The Mills of Men 111 

"Don't grunt at me," said Father Coffey, 
stepping back from him. "I'm no hog. Get 
back to the trough you just left and nose in 
there with the other hogs. They'll be glad to 
see you." He left the man standing there be- 
wildered, already half sobered by the shots that 
went through him. 

In his sermons, he withered the "saloon 
hounds," as he termed the drunkards, in 
phraseology that reduced them to a cinder. 
"Big kangaroos, with nothing but a long neck 
with a pin head on top of it, leaping from their 
hind legs for the bar and kicking their families 
in the face!" 

He knew, however, that words alone would 
never stop them effectively. He must cut in 
at the source. He wasted no time in trying 
to influence the type of saloon keeper who 
poured the drink into his men. These he re- 
garded as past human feeling. He went to the 
general manager of the mills. 

At a conference, it was agreed between them 
that any man of his parish who neglected his 
work through drink would be laid off indefi- 
nitely and could not return to work there until 
he had seen Father Coffey and brought a 
signed pledge to abstain from drink. The 
plan worked perfectly. Gradually the drink 



112 The Mills of Men 

evil declined and finally disappeared alto- 
gether. The men learned to control them- 
selves without any prohibition law. 

It was not pleasant for them to have to face 
Father Coffey on second infractions of the 
pledge, and sometimes they attempted strategy 
to avoid him. One day after a second drink- 
ing spree, a man came into the mill and asked 
for his job again. The manager looked him 
over, talked to him a little and finally asked: 

"Where is your pledge ?" 

"Here it is," said the man, and passed a 
signed document across the desk. The mana- 
ger looked at it. 

"That won't go here." said he. "No pledges 
but those signed bv Father Coffer will be 
taken in this mill." 

The man left, returned after an hour and 
was reinstated. He never needed another 
pledge. "That tongue lashing I got from 
Father Coffey," he said, "will do me for the 
rest of mv life." 



CHAPTER X 
SPREADING SAIL 

WE have dwelt upon Father Coffey's rela- 
tions with the heads of the mills in 
Mingo, because a large percentage of his par- 
ish worked there, and it was to the interest of 
every one to establish cordial and lasting busi- 
ness relations from the start. 

The mill, however, by no means measured 
the circumference of his circle of influence. In 
a very short time, Father Coffey was inti- 
mately known by all the business men of Mingo 
and of Steubenville as well. His idea was 
that every one should know exactly what a 
Catholic priest was like, and just what the 
Catholic Church stood for in her work; so he 
went up close to every one and in a moment 
each one saw he was coming as a friend. 

"I'm a salesman for the Catholic Church," 
he used to say, "and I have to be out on the 
road." 

And in the language of the salesmen, he was 
master of the perfect "approach." It took no 

113 



114 Spreading Sail 

formal introduction to put him in touch with 
any one. In the easiest, most natural manner 
possible he would move down the street, miss- 
ing not a person as he went, from the smallest 
child to the distinguished citizen, with a smile 
of recognition, or a friendly nod, or a wave of 
the hand; or, if words were spoken, with just 
the word that fitted. 

He would drop into a store and in a minute 
would have the manager engaged in delighted 
conversation, not forgetting a happy remark 
to the assistants and a sparkle of wit for the 
customers. Even on his first visit to a place, 
an observer would suppose from his manner 
that he had known the people all his life. Not 
a hint of the spectacular about all this, not 
the suggestion of patronizing or posing. On 
the other hand, not the shadow of cringing — 
none of the crude and frothy effusiveness of the 
professional friend-maker. Everything was 
as simple and as spontaneous as the song of a 
bird, and as enjoyable. It was the perfection 
of the "Cor ad cor loquitur/' the acme of affa- 
bility. "I never saw a man like him," was the 
serious judgment of an official who had met 
men in every walk of life. 

It is not surprising that he had the entree 
everywhere. In a very short while he grew to 



Spreading Sail 115 

be the most trusted man in Mingo. On a re- 
cent visit to the town, I met many of its busi- 
ness men of varying creeds and characters. 
We talked of Father Coffey and though he had 
been dead four years, he was still so close to 
them, so vividly remembered, that it seemed 
as if he were still in their midst and might be 
expected to drop in on our conversation at any 
moment. 

While he lived, there was not a civic move- 
ment in the town with which he was not identi- 
fied. The citizens depended upon having his 
advice and help. At the same time he never 
forgot that the most beneficial movement in 
Mingo was the work of the Catholic Church. 
As he gave the best he had to the town, he ex- 
pected the men of the town to give his church 
more than mere sympathy. 

As soon as he came to Mingo, he saw that he 
must get ready to build. He had a little 
church, a school, a house, all built of wood 
and already drooping with age. The Sisters' 
house, too, was not what he would like them to 
have; and his congregation, though willing, 
was poor. They were beginning their own 
homes and could not carry a building proposi- 
tion of that size. 

Accordingly, after he was settled in the 



116 Spreading Sail 

town, he began to collect funds for the church. 
His parish responded generously, but he did 
not limit himself to the Catholics alone. Non- 
Catholics should contribute also, to his way of 
thinking. 

"Aren't they getting the benefit of the power 
of the Catholic Church among them?" he said. 
"Why, we're helping them and they ought to 
pay for it." 

One of his familiar friends was Mr. D. J. 
Sinclair, since dead, then a prominent banker 
and mill owner in Steubenville. Father Cof- 
fey walked into his bank one morning. 

"Good morning, Father," said Mr. Sinclair. 

"Good morning, Mr. Sinclair. I've come to 
take some money out of your bank ; and it isn't 
going to be from my deposit, but from yours." 

"How is that?" asked Mr. Sinclair. 

"Well," continued Father Coffey, with fin- 
ished repose of manner, "everybody knows that 
you are interested in furthering every move- 
ment for the good of Steubenville and its 
environs. Now I am pushing ahead the big- 
gest and absolutely the best movement ever 
started in this region and you simply have to 
be in on it." 

"What is the movement?" inquired Mr. Sin- 






Spreading Sail 117 

i 

clair, much surprised that he hadn't heard of it 
before. 

"It's the Catholic Church, which I represent 
in Mingo and which is working hard day and 
night to make the men of this section better 
men, better workers and better citizens. I 
need money for a new school and church to 
keep this movement vital ; and you're not going 
to stand one side and see me want it." 

Mr. Sinclair wrote a check for five hundred 
dollars and gave it to Father Coffey. 

"Thank you very much," said he, as he care- 
fully put it away. "But remember, D. J., this 
is only the beginning. You'll be dying to 
give me more after a while and I'll be back to 
get it." 

Some time after, the evangelist, Billy Sun- 
day, came to Steubenville and held a revival. 
When the subscriptions were published, Father 
Coffey noted that Mr. Sinclair had given five 
hundred dollars. The next day the latter hap- 
pened to look out of his office window and 
saw Father Coffey standing in front of the 
bank in a most dejected attitude, with a coun- 
tenance the picture of woe, looking in at the 
window at intervals, but not making any at- 
tempt to enter. Mr. Sinclair was mystified. 



118 Spreading Sail 

He went out to Father Coffey and invited him 
in. He did so and seated himself funereally. 

"What has happened, Father? Has any- 
body died?" 

"Yes," said Father Coffey. "My hopes are 
dead. Here is this Billy Sunday coming to 
town and preaching out of a false bible six 
weeks. He gets five hundred dollars for it 
from one of my best friends. I work around 
here for six years, teaching out of the true 
Bible and nobody offers me a cent." 

He got another check the equal of Billy 
Sunday's. 

"Now, I feel revived," he said as he folded 
the check. "If you keep on this way, D. J., 
do you know what I may do? I may have a 
stained glass medallion made with your picture 
in it and put it up over the door of my 
church; and I'm thinking that's as close to 
heaven as a lot of you Presbyterians will 
ever get." 

The inevitable bazaar and festival was part 
of the machinery he employed. His congrega- 
tion responded generously — mill workers are 
proverbially generous — -but Father refused to 
allow them to do it all. He went personally 
to his "money friends" and invited them to 
be present. 



Spreading Sail 119 

"And be sure to come well heeled," he told 
them. "We'll get all the heels and you'll be 
lucky to get off with your soul." 

"We came to be fleeced/' said one of Father 
Coffey's old friends. "And you can believe 
we were fleeced artistically. If I hid a dime in 
my shoe, I think he would have got it ; but we 
never had so much fun for the money." 

As they were leaving, Father Coffey would 
anxiously inquire if they had car fare. "I'll 
lend you a nickel," he would say with an air 
of generosity. 

He had his own way, too, of keeping down 
repair bills. If a pump were broken, or a fur- 
nace out of order, he sent a note to the mill, 
asking Mr. Wisener to have a man "drop in 
to look at it." The man came over and fixed 
it. 

"How much will that be?" he asked the man. 

"I don't know," was the answer. 

"Then tell Mr. Wisener to send the bill," 
said Father Coffey. Of course, the bill never 
came. 

One day during the dinner hour at the mill, 
a dynamite explosion occurred that shook up 
the neighborhood somewhat. Before two 
o'clock the mill office received a bill from 
Father Coffey for broken glass and plaster 



120 Spreading Sail 

in the school. "I always aim to be business- 
like in these little matters/ 5 he added. 

The bundles he came home with from his 
walks were very often presents he received 
from the merchants of Mingo and Steuben- 
ville. He had his unique way of getting them. 
He "took them" he used to say. His usual 
way, when he needed anything, was to wander 
into a store, looking sadly out of pocket (as 
indeed he was) and to gaze longingly at the 
object he was after. 

"Anything you would like, Father?" 

"Yes," he would reply. "That!" pointing 
at the article with a meaning that it never 
could be his. 

"Take it," was the invariable reply. "It's 
yours." 

"Well, if you insist," Father Coffey would 
say deprecatingly, "then wrap it up for me." 

As a matter of fact, any of the stores would 
give him anything they thought he needed even 
before he expressed a wish for it. They so 
much enjoyed his "approach," however, that 
they liked to wait until he made it; and he 
never made it twice in the same way. 

Mr. Sulzbacher, a general merchant in Steu- 
benville, told Father Coffey one Christmas 
time to select anything in the store he wished 



Spreading Sail 121 

for a Christmas gift. Nothing loathe, Father 
Coffey fastened his eyes on a cut glass water 
set, which in due time was on display in his 
"den" at Mingo. Some days later he was 
making his rounds of the same store when he 
noticed a combination cane and umbrella. He 
brought it to Mr. Sulzbacher. 

"Sulz," he said, "this is what you should 
have given me for Christmas. I'll take it for 
New Year's." 

"Take it," said Mr. Sulzbacher. "And a 
Happy New Year with it." 

The telephone was an ally of his in the same 
cause and his use of it was most artistic. On 
the eve of a great Feast Day, the Sister in 
charge of the altar decoration sent up word to 
Father Coffey that more flowers would be 
needed to have things at their best, and that 
roses would be preferred. Father Coffey told 
the messenger to say to Sister that the roses 
would be there in a few minutes. 

He turned to the 'phone and called a num- 
ber. 

"Hello, that you, Bert? Father Coffey 
speaking — I wish to thank you for those beau- 
tiful roses you sent me. Such gorgeous color 
and so large! — What, didn't you see them? 
Why I can smell them from here, a dozen of 



122 Spreading Sail 

them, American Beauties — they're on the way, 
you say? Thank you, Bert, you're a lovely 
man. Good-by." 

He had been talking with the florist. The 
flowers were at the house immediately. 

His library had the best and the latest books 
sent him by the bookstores. Nothing, thought 
these people, was too good for Father Coffey. 

To hear him talk about "money," a stranger 
would imagine that his soul was set upon gold. 
Those who knew him understood well that 
every move he made was directed to his church 
and to his poor. He was most exact in his 
official accounts and would exercise his genius 
to help the church. In his personal accounts, 
he was the very opposite. He kept no record 
of what was due himself. It was too much 
bother, he said, to worry over such things. 

He had enough money collected to begin his 
building when the war broke out. He died be- 
fore the war was over, but he left to his suc- 
cessor a nucleus which will soon develop into 
the realization of his dream. As to his own 
fortune, his death disclosed that the only 
earthly possessions which were his to be- 
queath, were his books and thirty-six dollars 
in money. 



CHAPTER XI 
HE HAD COMPASSION 

THE grace of giving, which we noted in 
Father Coffey's boyhood, grew with his 
growth. The words of scripture, "He had 
compassion on the multitude," had a special 
attraction for him. If we followed those bun- 
dles he used to bring home from the stores we 
should find nearly all of them ultimately in 
the hands of the poor. He was not content 
to work singly in this field. He saw it was 
impossible for him to cover the ground alone. 
He thought oi things always on a large scale 
and in the matter of helping the poor, his idea 
was to reach them all, regardless of race or 
belief. 

One of his earliest perceptions was the need 
of a hospital for the workers of the vicinity. 
Dr. Strayer, the surgeon of the steel plant, had 
the same idea and he came to his friend, Father 
Coffey, to confer with him, confident of a 
sympathetic hearing, and knowing that once 
he had enlisted Father Coffey in the work, a 

123 



124 He Had Compassion 

sure and rapid way of solving the difficulty 
would be found. The first discussion of the 
matter took place on the steps of St. Agnes' 
Church. Father Coffey was enthusiastic. 
They worked out a plan together. Ready to 
answer detailed questions, they approached 
Mr. Wisener. He saw the necessity and prac- 
ticability of the plan and promised his efficient 
cooperation. Father Powers, the pastor of 
St. Peter's Church in Steubenville, and other 
business men of that town were likewise in- 
terested. A committee was formed to organ- 
ize the people of both Mingo and Steubenville 
to assist in securing funds. They responded 
quickly and under the capable direction of Mr. 
Wisener, the work was pushed forward. The 
original idea contemplated a hospital for the 
Mingo mills, father Coffey suggested a 
larger building to be located in Steubenville, 
to care for the people of both cities. This was 
adopted. To-day the handsome Ohio Valley 
Hospital in Steubenville stands as a witness 
to Father Coffey's love for the suffering. 

In past years, before the Ohio River was 
dammed, annual floods threatened the dwellers 
along the banks. Many times it was more 
than a threat. In 1913 a sudden and disas- 
trous flood rushed in over the river bottoms 



He Had Compassion 125 

at Mingo and swept everything before it. 
Houses with all their contents, furniture, 
stoves, bedding, were whirled away within an 
hour and spun down the river, the people 
barely escaping with their lives. A hundred 
families were left huddled along the hills, en- 
tirely destitute of clothing and food. 

The town of Mingo at once came to their 
rescue. A relief committee was formed, with 
Father Coffey one of its members, and dona- 
tions of money and of household goods for 
immediate use were called for. Help came 
from all sides. Bread, meat, groceries, fuel, 
stoves, kitchen ware, clothes, furniture, beds, 
all the essentials of home, to say nothing of 
a large sum of money, were contributed in a 
day by the people and the merchants. The 
different articles were sorted and each lot as- 
sembled, under supervision, in accessible parts 
of the town where the destitute could readily 
get them. 

On the same day the committee held a final 
meeting to decide how they should identify 
those deserving help, thus to prevent fraud in 
the distribution. As soon as the purpose of 
the meeting had been announced, a lady rose 
and addressed the house. 

She was pleased, she said, to meet such an 



126 He Had Compassion 

efficient group of men. She had traveled 
much and had not been long in Mingo ; but she 
must confess that in all her experience she had 
not witnessed anywhere more marvelous work 
for the uplift of humanity than the men of 
Mingo had accomplished in so short a time. 

''But/' she continued, assuming the role of 
patron and prophetess, "our real work is ahead 
of us, namely in the distribution of the goods. 
Statistics prove that the great leakage in all 
charitable movements, the one rift in the lute, 
comes from slovenly methods in apportioning 
the intake. Really to identify the deserving 
is to-day a problem worthy of the most dis- 
cerning intelligence." 

The men sat stupefied. For most of them 
it was the first time they had encountered an 
uplifter and her patois was totally unintelligi- 
ble to them. They looked at her with their 
fingers in their mouths, metaphorically speak- 
ing. 

"Gentlemen," continued the prophetess, "I 
hold in my hand a paper containing the results 
of a scrutinizing research made through the 
town to-day, and I shall direct your attention 
to the following particulars which will control 
us in meting out our aid to the genuinely 
worthy. I shall read it to you : 



He Had Compassion 127 



a 



a 



Thomas Williams — earns $20 a week. 
Spends part of that for drink. He 
should receive no help. 
Samuel Brown — while not able to work, has 
two boys who bring in $25 weekly. 

"David Whipple — owns a market garden and 
a small farm. 

"Arthur Landers — catches fish in the river and 
sells them. He may be classed as a mer- 
chant. 

"Henry Johnson — makes a good salary work- 
ing on the railroad and has a daughter at 
work also. 



"These five I have discovered to be unde- 
serving of help. If any gentleman here has 
more to add to this list, it will simplify our 
process of elimination and enable us to focus 
our attention upon the worthy." 

Nobody stirred. The reaction was nil. 

Father Coffey waited in silence to see what 
the others would say. They said nothing. 
They were back in the stone age. "I couldn't 
quite get it all," said one of them afterwards. 
"But I knew some one was throwing a marlin- 
spike into the machinery." Father Coffey 
arose. He had not much patience with the 



128 He Had Compassion 

professional uplifters. As a class, they did 
not seem genuine to him. 

"Lady," he said, "and gentlemen: I do not 
wish to make a long speech, because we haven't 
the time now for anything but work. How- 
ever, I am certain that I voice the opinion of 
every man here when I express our apprecia- 
tion of the incomprehensibility of the beauty 
of the instruction our friend has vouchsafed us. 

"Especially illuminating are the lady's re- 
marks upon statistics as compared to loot. It 
recalls to our minds, I am sure, the saying of 
Thucydides, that 'the only thing loot needs to 
succeed is to have itself backed up by statis- 
tics.' And in the present work, if we wish to 
avoid the rift in the loot, we shall likewise have 
to steer clear of statistics. 

"As to the five names given, all I have to 
say is that if Arthur Landers catches fish, he 
has no stove to cook them on. If David 
Whipple owns a market garden, he can't put 
his head under water and pull up radishes with 
his teeth. If Thomas Williams drinks, his 
wife and children must eat. As for the others, 
they may be making money, but if any of us 
found a millionaire starving in the desert, we 
wouldn't tell him to take out his bank book 
and eat it. 



He Had Compassion 129 

"To conclude, I move that we start in this 
very hour to make the distribution, each of us 
using his best judgment according to the work 
assigned to him. All in favor of the motion 
will please say 'Aye/ " 

A resounding chorus of male voices sang 
out "Aye." The distribution began within 
the hour. 

All the clothing had been entrusted to 
Father Coffey. It made a mountainous pile 
in the school hall. Himself, with some trusty 
parish assistants, attended personally to all 
the work. 

On the second day of the distribution, after 
all who had come had been fitted out, a negro 
woman wandered into the hall and began to 
look about. Father Coffey went over to meet 
her. 

"Is there anything I can do for you, 
madam?" he inquired. 

Madame paused. "Is you Preacher Cof- 
fey?" she asked. 

"Yes, madam," said Father Coffey. 

"Well, Ah'se suah glad to heah it. Dey 
tells me you all gives the people jes' what 
dey want." 

"Yes, anything in the way of clothes," said 



130 He Had Compassion 

Father Coffey, "Do you live along the 
river?" 

"Ah'se done did live dere," said madame. 
"But dat ribber done washed mah house out 
clean." 

"Then you'll want some kitchen things/' 
said Father Coffey. "I can tell you where to 
get a stove and some chairs and a table." 

"Ah doan want no stoves, an' no chaiahs, an' 
no tables." 

"Were the beds carried out of your house, 
too?" asked Father Coffey. 

"Yeah, dey was. Eberyting went out, 
'cept de house. But Ah doan want any of 
dem tings now. Ah'se tell you all whut Ah 
do want — " lowering her voice to a stage whis- 
per and rolling her eyes around t\\e hall, "Ah 
want a set of furs." 

"A set of furs!" gasped Father Coffey. 

"Yeah, a set of furs, like de grand ladies 
wears. Ah ain't neber had none, and Ah 
want 'em now." 

Father Coffey, thoroughly alive to the hu- 
mor of the situation, dug into the mountain 
and came out at last with a fur coat. She put 
it on at once. 

He plunged into the mass again and exca- 
vated a fur hat. Madame took off her old hat 



He Had Compassion 131 

and jammed the fur one on. It had to fit. 

At the third attempt Father Coffey came up 
with a heavy fur muff. 

"I hope this will fit you, lady," he said. 

She pushed her hands into it and began 
marching around the hall. 

"Ah'se a queen!" she exclaimed in ecstasy. 

It was a warm day in April but royalty 
never bothers with the weather. She steamed 
down the hill, a rapturous ball of fur, calling 
out all the way, "Ah'se a queen! Ah'se a 
queen!" 

With the view of continuing and fostering 
this spirit of cooperation in Mingo, Father 
Coffey gave an annual dinner at his residence 
to which he invited the head men of the milk 
and his business friends in the vicinity. 

"How we used to look forward to those din- 
ners!" said one. "The welcome we received 
and the easy way in which we got to feel at 
home there. No preliminary melting away of 
thin ice. We never thought, many of us, that 
we would arrive at the point where we would 
be happy to be in a priest's house. 

"Then the dinner! The banter and the wit 
and laughter of it all, with Father Coffey lead- 
ing the way. It made me feel twenty years 
younger. We were all like a bunch of boys. 



132 He Had Compassion 

''After dinner a smoke in Father's 'den. 5 
Here we got down to business. Our discus- 
sions invariably went into the subjects nearest 
Father Coffey's heart. How we could im- 
prove things and men in our town: defects 
that ought to be attended to: ways and means 
of helping the workingman and his family and 
the poor. Father didn't forget his church, 
either. 

"'We left his house better men and more 
anxious than ever to do our part."' 

On other occasions he would invite one or 
other of the men to dine with him. to talk 
over special cases in detail. 

In this busy life of his, it was not to be 
expected that Father Coffey could always es- 
cape criticism. Wherever a strong light is 
focused upon a central figure, there will al- 
ways be some croaking from the outlying 
shadows. The following is a copy of a letter 
which Father Coffey doubtless sent, and of 
which we have no further details. Internal 
evidence, however, indicates that it is an 
answer to somebody, who was indulging in 
patronizing worry over Father Coffey's 
spiritual welfare. We give Father Coffey's 
reply: 



He Had Compassion 133 

December 5, 

Dear Sir: 

I am in receipt of a letter from you, con- 
taining a category of questions, which has 
given me no little surprise and vexation. 

The matter about which you write you seem 
to be better informed on than I. You are par- 
ticularly well informed as to date, persons 
participating and program. This informa- 
tion you seek from me, yet graciously vouch- 
safe it yourself. The only question you did 
not ask was whether I had attended the af- 
fair. No doubt you diligently informed your- 
self upon this ; hence the reason for not adding 
it to your category above mentioned. 

I cannot recall any action of mine that has 
jeopardized my standing as a priest, for I 
feel I know when to judge between my official 
duties and my privileges. This latter I know 
would require consultation and permission of 
my superiors. To these would I have recourse 
had I occasion to do so, and to these would I 
have to answer — and to these only — were I 
rash enough to do anything which might incur 
their censure. 

I would likewise remind you that my zeal for 
Catholic principles and discipline, though it 



134 He Had Compassion 

may not be spectacular, is nevertheless sincere. 
Since, therefore, you are better informed on 
the subject about which you write than I am, 
I must tell you that I see no reason for fur- 
ther correspondence between us on the matter. 

D. A. Coffey. 

Father Coffey's charity was by no means 
restricted to community emergencies. He 
was suspicious of what are nowadays styled 
"movements," or "drives/' 

"The organized charity, scrimped and 
iced," found him somewhat cold. He disliked 
its air of condescension, its too frequent adver- 
tising of self. He believed, and taught his 
people, that the best form of charity is exer- 
cised by the individual in the little circle where 
God has placed him. "Watch that spot," he 
used to say, "and you'll find plenty to do with- 
out any parading." 

He gave constant example of his teaching, 
No case of need in his parish ever went un- 
attended ; and he did not wait until the trouble 
was brought to him. He was aggressive in 
discovering the wants of others. Particularly 
was this true with the children. He observed 
each child in the school and noted when any 
seemed to need assistance. 



He Had Compassion 135 

"Many a time," writes one of the Sisters 
who taught in St. Agnes' School, "he would 
order shoes and stockings, in fact clothes of 
all kinds, sent to the Sisters' house, with direc- 
tions to have the needy fitted out. This was 
to be done quietly so that the others would not 
find it out. It was evident to me why he was 
so poor himself. 

"I remember too," continues the Sister, 
"his goodness to the children of the mining 
camp district. This was a shifting district 
with the people constantly moving in and out, 
and besides so distant and isolated a place, 
that even with the cars to help, it was not easy 
to reach. Father watched the children there 
and saw that they were prepared for the Sac- 
raments. 

"Once a class of twelve of these children 
were instructed for their First Communion 
at our school. Father, at his own expense, 
paid their way in and out. Before the great 
day he observed that three of them would not 
be able to dress for the occasion as neatly as 
they would like to. He fitted out these three 
with suits and shoes. On their Communion 
day the class had dinner in town, which Father 
paid for. Then the pastor, holding two grin- 
ning lads by the hands, others holding on to 



136 He Had Compassion 

his coat, the rest at his heels, and all chattering 
together, made their way in a crowd to the 
movies. 

"In the evening, amid calls of 'Good-by, 
Fader,' and 'We had a good time, Fader/ they 
were placed on the street car for home. It was 
hard to tell who had enjoyed the day most, 
the priest or the children." 

Tramps had his house marked. He was a 
"sure thing" for them. He never gave them 
much money, as they failed to fool him into 
believing their stories of a cruel world; but 
he would never take the chance, as he said, of 
adding the last straw to their burden. "Be- 
sides," he said, "they earn the little they get in 
the scolding I give them." 

The "scolding" was a straight talk to them 
to get to work and take care of themselves. 
Some of them he started again on the good 
road by getting them work in the mills. 

Often in conversation he would remark that 
he had to get a pair of shoes, as he had only 
one pair. 

"Why, where are your shoes? You had two 
pairs last week," said one w T ho had seen them. 

"Oh, there was a poor fellow over at the 
house the other day," said Father Coffey, "and 
shoes looked so bad, I gave him mine." 



He Had Compassion 137 

When the children presented him with a 
Christmas gift in money, he would immedi- 
ately plan to return it in some way for their 
good. 

He noted what one might call little needs in 
the children, things that inexperienced parents 
overlooked. A child showed by his actions in 
class that he was shortsighted. Father Cof- 
fey would attend to him when the parents 
could not afford it. 

Jimmie was a tall gangling young lad, just 
at the awkward age, and very nearsighted. 
Father Coffey met him one day and said : 

"Let's take a ride, Jimmie. I want you to 
help me." 

"All right, Father," said Jimmie. 

They boarded a car and rode to Steuben- 
ville, Jimmie wondering what was in the air. 
Alighting, they went straight to the oculist, 
Jimmie shuffling along after Father Coffey's 
fast walk, and elbowing a lane among the 
passengers along the street. 

"I want this boy's eyes examined," said 
Father Coffey to the oculist. "If you can, 
have the glasses done to-day." 

The examination was made. The oculist 
arranged with the optician to have the glasses 
done that afternoon. 



138 He Had Compassion 

Father Coffey and Jimmie met at the ap- 
pointed time at the optician's. There Jimmie 
put on his first pair of glasses. The new ad- 
justment of his vision bewildered him and he 
stared around at the people in the store like 
an owl out of a tree. 

Father Coffey looked up at six-foot Jimmie, 
in his quizzical way, and then in a serious and 
business-like tone, said: 

"Come, Secretary," and with the dignity of 
a drum major, marched out of the store with 
Jimmie tumbling along after him. 

Mr. Klein, a clothing merchant of Mingo, 
saw Father Coffey coming into his store on a 
very cold winter morning. Looking a second 
time, he saw a tiny lad alongside of Father. 
He came over to them. 

"Mr. Klein, I just picked this little fellow 
up along the street. Dress him up, or he'll 
freeze to death. He needs everything." 

The boy had on only a ragged pair of trous- 
ers; he was barefooted, hatless and naked 
from the waist up except for a thin piece of a 
shawl he had twisted about him. 

"Sure, we'll fix him up," said Mr. Klein, get- 
ting busy at once. 

"What is his name?" 

"I didn't have time to find out his name nor 



He Had Compassion 139 

where he comes from/' answered Father Cof- 
fey. "I just dragged him in here before he'd 
perish. But we'll have it now. What is your 
name, son?" 

He took down the boy's name and his ad- 
dress. Mr. Klein fitted him out from top to 
toe and the lad smiled. 

"Now," said Father Coffey, "we'll go out 
and put something inside that frozen stomach, 
and then I'll bet you'll laugh. What is the 
bill, Mr. Klein?" 

"I'll take care of the bill, Father," said Mr. 
Klein. 

"Thank you, Mr. Klein. Now" (to the 
boy), "we'll go out and get that laugh that's 
coming to us." 

And the two had breakfast together. 

"I'll never forget Father Coffey," said Mr. 
Klein, after telling me this story. "When my 
mother died and I was called away suddenly 
to New York, the first thing to console me 
there, was a telegram of sympathy from 
Father. I didn't have time to tell any one 
why I was going, but Father Coffey saw the 
store closed the next day and found that my 
mother had died; and he went right away and 
wrote words that helped me." 

When Father Coffey died, Mr. Klein, 



140 He Had Compassion 

though of the Jewish faith, sent an offering 
for Masses for the repose of his friend's soul. 

I always like to think of Father Coffey as 
he was in those golden days of his ministry. 
The first impression I had of him was that of 
dignity, and this impression remained through 
the intimacy of after years of friendship. It 
was, I think, the general impression. A dear 
invalid lady, who knew him well, but who had 
not seen him for years, speaking of him a short 
time back, said in her soft whisper, "Wasn't 
he dignified!" The dedicatory page of Father 
Powers' booklet, In Memoriam, describes him 
as a man respected and loved by all who knew 
him. Respect was the earliest feeling Father 
Coffey inspired. 

His appearance conveyed this sense at once. 
He was tall, just under six feet, and very 
erect in bearing; not the least stiff, however, 
nor military in carriage. On the contrary, 
his every movement was a combination of 
flexible grace and easy alertness. He was 
rapid in his walk, in his actions, but with no 
suggestion of hurry. A quiet, unstudied ac- 
curacy, a "deliberate speed, majestic instancy" 
pervaded all he did and revealed that thought 
was well in advance of action and that he 
knew exactly what he was about. Though he 



He Had Compassion 141 

created in every one about him an atmosphere 
of contentment and repose, yet the memory of 
him is not of one at rest, but of one eagerly 
pressing forward. His soul had caught the 
quenchless fire from Him who "went about 
doing good." 



CHAPTER XII 
A PORTRAIT AXD A WALK 

ALMOST simultaneously with his strength 
appeared his gentleness. This was not 
revealed as a passive quality, but as an active, 
even an aggressive, adaptability. What we 
termed his "approach," his ability to judge 
each character swiftly and to make just the 
proper advance to it, was strikingly in evidence 
at all times. If Father Coffey met twenty- 
five strangers in succession, he could say the 
fitting word to each of them, with no two re- 
marks alike, and the chances are that a dozen 
of these remarks would be witty and all of 
them brotherly. He never offended through 
tactlessness. He never cut unless he had to. 
One of his parishioners unconsciously voiced 
this judgment of him in a group of ladies. 
After some pleasant banter between herself 
and the pastor, in which a good laugh finally 
turned upon her, she said: 

"Oh, no one ever minds what Father Coffey 

142 



A Portrait and a Walk 143 

says." She meant to imply that she enjoyed 
the laugh as much as any of the others. 

The secret of his perfect balance and his 
gentleness was that he showed respect for 
everyone as a good father would for his chil- 
dren, the children of God. 

His voice was the perfect mate to his man- 
ner. Decision was the first note of it, but in- 
stantly again one felt it permeated with intelli- 
gent sympathy. He never gushed. He 
spoke rapidly, but his words came "trippingly 
on the tongue," with such clear enunciation 
that every syllable was caught without effort, 
and every shade of humor or feeling rose easily 
to the surface. There was color in his speech. 
He never spoke loudly, not even in the church, 
but suited the tone to the idea, substituting in- 
tensity for volume of sound when desiring to 
send home a thought. Hamlet's address to 
the players would be superfluous for Father 
Coffey. In his sermons, each one of the con- 
gregation felt that he was being talked to indi- 
vidually. He had no sympathy for the "lion 
in the pulpit" style of preaching. 

"Whenever I am tempted to shout in a ser- 
mon," he said, "I think of the Scripture words, 
'The devil goeth about as a roaring lion/ 
That stops me." 



144 A Portrait and a Walk 

He was convincing, but neither resonant nor 
domineering; persuasive, but neither oily nor 
sentimental. His voice held the intimate note 
of conversation between friends. His lan- 
guage was fluent, but apt, never inflated by 
phraseology nor banked with flowers. There 
was no marking time in his sermons, nor coun- 
termarching. He went forward constantly. 

I find it difficult to describe his countenance. 
His face was full, not fat, and with a touch of 
the florid ; his hair was dark, his forehead high, 
looking more so in his latter years of advanc- 
ing baldness. It was not a countenance from 
which one would anticipate unusual power of 
expression; yet this is the very reason that 
makes it difficult to fix his countenance in a 
portrait. I have never seen a picture of him of 
which I could say, "That is Father Coffey," 
He must have been the despair of the pho- 
tographers and I imagine he would bewilder 
even a painter. 

Because the thoughts of his constantly active 
mind rose to his countenance as the changing 
reflections of the sky reveal themselves in 
clear waters, and with a similar dissolving 
quietude ; not the sudden and startling changes 
of the nervous temperament, perturbing the 
observer, but a childlike openness of soul shone 



A Portrait and a Walk 145 

out with the sure serenity that betokened as 
well the dignified inner control of the man. 
Thompson's lines 

Artless as the air 

And candid as the skies, 

perhaps describe Father Coffey's countenance 
best. And, admittedly, it is not easy to put 
the air and the skies upon canvas. 

His mouth was rather small, but showing de- 
cision, the lips even and well together, without 
any hint of sullenness or acidity ; his dark blue 
eyes were lively and penetrating, but steady 
and unsuspicious. He was a little nearsighted 
and when he wore his glasses, one of his man- 
nerisms (he was singularly free from these) 
was a humorous pushing back of his pince-nez 
upon his nose which seemed to be restive under 
the pressure. 

"This nose doesn't take well to the saddle/' 
he used to say. 

Finally he would lay the glasses aside and 
would appear happier. 

If he were indignant or angry, a fierce light 
would come into his eyes as he stood straight 
and perfectly silent. Almost at once, how- 
ever, the internal check to his anger would 
begin to show in the mingled expression of 



146 A Portrait and a Walk 

kindness and of humor that came up from their 
depths, as though he were saying within him- 
self, "This is funny as well as serious and we'll 
find the remedy for the blunder anyway." 
His anger passed off like a summer storm and 
his actions toward the person who had aroused 
it were as natural as though nothing had hap- 
pened. He was very slow in attributing sin- 
ister motives to others. The only permanent 
resentment he held was for double dealing and 
hypocrisy. 

Father Coffey seldom laughed. In an at- 
mosphere vibrating with laughter, created 
mostly by his own sayings, he had a bland and 
innocent way of looking about at the merriment 
he caused as though astonished and wondering 
what they were all laughing at. At the same 
time, one could feel, though not see, that he was 
enjoying the fun quite as much as anyone. 
This attitude of unaffected amazement put a 
rare edge upon his wit. 

On the other hand, his sympathy was mani- 
fested with equal felicity. His manner, his 
voice, his looks, his brief but chosen words, to- 
gether made an impression upon the sorrow- 
ing and the lonely that they never forgot. 

I had been giving a mission in the neigh- 
borhood of Mingo and at its close dropped in 



A Portrait and a Walk 147 

for a few days rest at St. Agnes' Rectory. In 
the evening of the first day, Father Coffey 
said: 

"Come, we've been indoors too much to-day. 
Let us have a little walk." We strolled out 
into the town. We had gone hardly a hundred 
feet when we met a gentleman coming up the 
street. 

"Good evening, Doctor," said Father Cof- 
fey, pausing. 

The introductions finished, Father Coffey 
said: 

"Father, Doctor is the rector of the 

church here." He named a denomina- 
tional church. "I regret to hear, Doctor, that 
Mrs. has not been well." 

"Yes, Father, I fear she is failing fast," 
answered the rector. 

"I am sorry to hear it," said Father Coffey. 
"Would a change of air benefit her?" 

"The doctors think so, Father, but where 
shall I get the means?" 

"Your people perhaps would help." Dr. 
looked dubious. 

"And your friends," continued Father 
Coffey. 

Dr. knowing what was meant, looked 

gratefully and said: 



148 A Portrait and a Walk 

"Thank you, Father. I should not be 
ashamed to ask you if I needed it." 

"Plan it out," said Father Coffey. "And 

meantime I shall not forget Mrs. in my 

prayers." 

We moved on. In another moment, 

"Good evening, Andy," from Father Coffey. 
I looked up and met a handsome giant, a tre- 
mendous man of flowing muscle and athletic 
build, straight as a mountain pine and stately 
as a commanding general. 

"Good evening, Father," said Andy, cheer- 
fully but reverently. 

"Andy," Father Coffey explained, "is the 
best worker in our mills, even if I do say it to 
his face." Andy laughed bashfully, but hap- 

"And what's more," said Father Coffey, "he 
is one of the best workers in our church. Isn't 
he a handsome Austrian? He'd have made a 
fine Captain of the Black Hussars." 

"Father make fun," said Andy in his grow- 
ing English. 

"And how is the work going, Andy?" 

"Oh, the same, Father. I am just going 
now on my twenty-four hours. You know I 
fear them, Father. If anything happens to 






r A Portrait and a Walk 149 

me, it happens then. I get so tired. My hand 
slips — foot slips — all over with Andy." 

"Now, Andy," said Father Coffey, "noth- 
ing will happen to you. Say a prayer when 
you start and often when you are working, and 
I'll say many prayers for you, too, and put 
your name in my Masses. You'll be safe, 
Andy. Good-by and God bless you." 

We came to a millinery store. The door 
was open and several lady shoppers within. 
Father Coffey stepped in. 

"A beauty shop!" he exclaimed. "Flowers 
on the hats and flowers looking at the hats!" 

"Oh, Father Coffey, you're terrible!" said 
they, meaning he was delightful. Evidently 
they were ladies of his parish. 

"Aren't these flowers lovely," he said. "I 
can almost smell them. Miss Nellie," ad- 
dressing the young lady who kept the shop, 
"those flowers are a creation. The only thing 
I fear is that when the ladies bring them into 
church on their hats, they'll distract the con- 
gregation. Good evening, ladies!" 

Down the street we go amid salutations 
right and left, till suddenly we stop. 

"How do you do, Sam?" said Father Cof- 
fey. "Father, here's a man I want you to 



150 A Portrait and a Walk 

meet. This is Sam , and he's a pagan 

Jew. What do you think of that! It 
wouldn't be so bad if he were an orthodox. 
But a pagan Jew! I think I'll make a Cath- 
olic out of him. He's too good to leave out in 
the cold this way." Sam was smiling all the 
while, unembarrassed. 

"But Sam is one of my best friends, all the 
same," continued Father, "and he has a heart 
as big as himself. We're on the hospital com- 
mittee together and I know Sam is doing good 
work. When is the next meeting, Sam?" 

"Wednesday night, Father," said Sam. 

"I'll be there. Good-bv, Sam." 

"Good-by, Father." 

Now we climb up and sideways and around 
until we arrive at the poorest section of the 
town — a jumble of wretchedly built houses, 
impossible of repair. Sanitation, to say noth- 
ing of cleanliness, was an absent feature of the 
place. 

"This isn't going to stay this way," said 
Father Coffey, as we stood together and looked 
about. "We have been talking over this spot 
at the mill and a change is on the way." 

To-day this locality is in process of becoming 
one of the neatest spots in Mingo. Trim, 
well-kept homes, many of them new, are build- 



A Portrait and a Walk 151 

ing, with all the ordinary modern improve- 
ments, nicely painted and with grassy little 
lawns where formerly the ash heap flourished 
— the slum will soon be transfigured into a 
thing of beauty. The steel company has taken 
up the question of good homes for its employes, 
has devised a clever and very liberal home own- 
ing plan, cooperating with its men in building 
their houses and in paying for them, and there 
will be no more comfortable homes anywhere 
than those of the workingmen of Mingo, 

We move across the town a bit, mount the 
steps of a dwelling and ring the bell. The 
door is opened. 

"Oh, Father Coffey," says a boy's hearty 
voice. "Come in, Father." 

Father Coffey looks through to the dining 
room and sees the family are at supper and 
are beginning to rise. 

"Don't get up," he calls to them. "We're 
coming right in to you." They do as he says 
and in a moment he is among them. After 
introductions, he says: 

"We're both thirsty, and we'll enjoy a cup 
of tea with you." 

A place is made for each of us and in an- 
other moment Father Coffey is cozily chatting 
with the family of father, mother and six chil- 



152 A Portrait and a Walk 

dren, all perfectly at their ease with their 
pastor. He has a question for each child, with 
a humorous comment for each that delights 
everyone. After our cup of tea is finished, we 
leave them there pleased and happy. 

By this we are nearly back at the rectory. 
At the corner we come upon a group of chil- 
dren. 

"Hello, Joe! Hello, Tommy! Hello, 
Harry! And here's Billy. What grade are 
you in, Billy?" 

"Jus' beginnin' de firs', Fader," says Billy. 

"Did the Sisters teach you to spell anything 
yet?" asks Father. 

"Yes, Fader, but not hard words," says 
Billy, cautiously. 

"Well, I'll bet you can't spell 'house'," says 
Father. Billy looks pained. "Here," con- 
tinued Father Coffey, reaching into his pocket, 
"I have five pennies. I'll give you one for 
every letter you get correctly. Now spell 
'house'." 

The ring of youngsters falls back to a stra- 
tegic distance, leaving Billy in the center. 

"House," says Billy in a far away tone, his 
eyes wandering to the ring. He comes back 
from his forage and says loudly : 

"Haitch— " 



A Portrait and a Walk 153 

"Aitch is right," says Father. "Here's one 
penny." 

Billy grabs the penny and goes at the job 
again, fixing his eyes intently upon the ring. 

"I — " he announces. He had missed his 
signals. 

"Here, you fellows," said Father Coffey, 
turning to the ring. "No fair on that! 
You're telling. You can't spell 'house' your- 
selves. 'I' in 'house'!" he said hopelessly. 

"We never told him 'I,' Fader," chorused 
the gang. 

"Ah, yuh did too tell me T," says Billy, 
giving away the game. 

"Ah, we never!" said the ring, with deep 
scorn for Billy. 

"Well, don't tell him anything, or you won't 
get any fill-me-quicks and ink." 

"Fill-me-quicks" meant baker's cakes and 
muffins. "Ink" was his name for soft drinks. 

This direful threat reduced the crowd to a 
suffocated silence. 

"Try again, Billy," said Father Coffey. 
"House," saying it very carefully for him. 

"O— " ventured Billy. 

"That's it," said Father Coffey. "Here's 
another penny." 

By dint of more pronouncing, he forced the 



154 



A Portrait and a Walk 



letters u, s, e, from Billy, until the youngster 
had the five pennies. 

"See, Billy?" he said. "You can spell with- 
out anyone telling you. After that wonder- 
ful, orderly class, here's something for the 
crowd. Get your fill-me-quicks and ink and 
divide evenly. And don't leave Billy out, 
either. Xow beat it." 

We went into the house and the gang "beat 
it" down the hill with a whoop. 



CHAPTER XIII 

A PARISH OF PEACE 

44 lT\URI]SrG the eleven years of his pas- 
l^J torate here the spiritual progress of 
St, Agnes' never lagged and the most signifi- 
cant feature of its uninterrupted growth was 
the large number of reconciliations he brought 
about," I quote from Father Powers' mem- 
orial sketch of Father Coffey. Father 
Powers, as the neighboring priest in St. Peter's 
parish of Steubenville, and as a close and sym- 
pathetic observer of the work done in St. 
Agnes', had every opportunity of knowing the 
inner heart of the parish. The outstanding 
visible blessing brought to the people through 
the ministrations of Father Coffey was the 
grace of brotherly love. "Little children, love 
one another," was the gospel constantly 
preached by word and example all those years. 
In a parish like St. Agnes' — "The parish of 
the Five Nations," Father Coffey used to call 
it — it was easy to anticipate misunderstandings 

155 



156 



A Parish of Peace 



between individuals and more especially be- 
tween groups of nationally different people, 
many of whom were brought up in the old 
country to dislike one another. From child- 
hood they breathed a traditional atmosphere of 
hostility and mistrust. Political intrigue saw 
to it that the earliest impressions upon the 
waxen hearts of the young were seared in with 
the hot iron of hatred. Let such a child grow 
up with this seal stamped in and hardened 
upon his heart and it becomes second nature in 
the man. To eradicate it and to substitute 
God's law, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as 
thyself," requires divine grace, indeed; but, 
under God's dispensation, requires also a faith- 
ful bearer of the torch of grace, a worthy dis- 
penser of the word of the Spirit. 

Father Coffey was the electric spark that 
fused these opposite and dangerous elements 
into one homogeneous and wholesome sub- 
stance. 

He acted upon the principle that people who 
like the same thing will ultimately like one an- 
other; and he was the "thing" they were going 
to like. I had an opportunity of personally 
observing his memorable success in this field. 

Arriving in Mingo one evening for a short 
stay between trains, I was told that I had come 



A Parish of Peace 157 

just in time for a parish outing, a boat ride on 
the river. 

"The Five Nations are going on a moonlight 
picnic this evening," said Father Coffey, "and 
you must come along." 

I had doubts of my ability to mingle at all 
gracefully with the "Five Nations" and felt 
that my awkwardness would prove a killjoy 
rather than a help. I pleaded train fatigue 
and offered to stay at home and keep house. 

"No, no, by no means," said Father Coffey. 
"There'll be no house to keep. The whole 
parish will be out." So I went down to the 
wharf and boarded the big boat. 

They were all there, as he said. The boat 
was crowded. A band was playing; children 
chattering over the sides ; young folks walking 
mostly in twos as well as one could walk in that 
crowd; the older people grouped in cozy cor- 
ners. The boat cast off amid cheers from land 
and shore and the "Five Nations" were afloat. 

But they weren't the "Five Nations" at all. 
There was only one nation. Instead of seeing 
distinct parties of Americans, Hungarians, 
Austrians, Slovaks, Italians, Poles, Serbians, 
Croatians, I found, after a little looking about, 
that I could not begin to pick them out sepa- 
rately. Americans were talking familiarly 



158 A Parish of Peace 

with Slovaks; Hungarians "chumming" with 
Italians; Poles, Serbians, Croatians laughing 
and joking together, everyone snugly at home 
with everybody else. 

What was more, I was not left out of it for 
a moment. I had hesitated to go to the picnic, 
forecasting the probability of my being a spec- 
ter at the feast; but once I got aboard that 
boat, I wasn't allowed to hesitate. I didn't 
have to make any advances. They made the 
advances. I was invited to sit down here, and 
called to come over there, and hailed from the 
upper deck and waved at from the lower deck, 
until I began to feel like the nominee for the 
Presidency. 

They had brought lunches with them and I 
was in on the lunches — or they were in on me, 
as I found out afterwards. I ate Hungarian 
sausage laid on Slovakian cakes; I juggled 
Italian spaghetti between bites of Croatian 
cheese; I swallowed American ice-cream, and 
— let me speak it in a whisper — I drank Bul- 
garian beer. It was a fearsome performance. 
Being all things to all men sometimes has its 
aftermath. The specters at the feast came 
around the next day. 

The old folks talked with me as though they 
had known me all their lives. The youngsters 



A Parish of Peace 159 

asked me to play games that demanded the 
agility of a rabbit. Meantime the band kept 
swinging into one air out of another until we 
were well on our way. Then the dancers be- 
gan. There were American quadrilles, and 
Irish reels, and Scotch flings, and Hungarian 
hops, and Slavish folk dances and all were ap- 
plauded and appreciated. 

Moving constantly in and out through the 
throngs went Father Coffey, like a humming 
bird, with a word here and a joke there; an 
inquiry of one person, a bit of news for an- 
other; paying special attention to the old peo- 
ple and seeing that they were comfortable and 
had everything they wished for. He must 
have walked twenty miles that night, but it was 
twenty miles on the road to happiness. 

"Here," I found myself thinking, "is a re- 
production of the early Christians. 'Every 
nation under heaven' and all understanding 
one tongue, as it were, the Pentecostal tongue 
of love." Any bystander could say, too, as 
was said of those same early Christians, "How 
they love one another!" 

I looked out on the serene night. The boat 
was gurgling melodiously through the shim- 
mering ripples. The band struck softly the 
"O Sanctissima" and a quiet came over the 



I GO A Parish of Peace 

crowd. The boat was slipping into her land- 
ing place. I looked up. The round moon 
was shining down contentedly. 

"Oh, look/' said one of the children. "The 
man in the moon is smiling at us." 

"No wonder/' I said. 

Another thought struck me as we walked up 
to the house after the picnic. Over the whole 
boat all the conversations, the joking and the 
merriment, had been carried on in the English 
language and the entire entertainment was 
American in tone. Father Coffey had solved 
the problem of the melting pot. 

One of the reasons for such a success, 
achieved within ten years, was the unwearied 
service Father Coffey gave to the parishioners. 
In all his time with them he took but one vaca- 
tion of any extent ; and he never left his parish 
a day without a priest. He established Sodal- 
ities, with one of the Sisters acting as Prefect 
for the ladies. He had a great devotion to 
the Blessed Sacrament and to the Sacred 
Heart. The first Friday was a special day in 
the parish. He insisted upon the children 
going to Holy Communion the first Friday 
and any child who was absent was invariably 
missed by the pastor and was questioned about 
it afterward. 



A Parish of Peace 161 

The Holy Hour was never omitted on this 
day. One of the Sisters of St. Agnes' School 
writes: "Father ascribed all his success as a 
priest and all the blessings, spiritual and tem- 
poral, that came to the parish, to the devotion 
of the Holy Hour." 

He had great confidence, also, in the inter- 
cession of the saints. His favorite was the 
saint of the poor, St. Francis of Assisi. He 
was often found in the evenings re-reading the 
life of this charming saint, and the example of 
St. Francis doubtless had great influence on 
his own life. 

He took good care, however, not to ask St. 
Francis for money. "We'll have to leave St. 
Francis out of this," he used to say when there 
was a question of raising funds. "He won't 
be interested." On such occasions he went to 
the Blessed Virgin and to the Little Flower. 

He said Mass with great devotion and after 
Mass he made a visit to each shrine in the little 
church. If his needs were very urgent, he 
made a novena of visits to these shrines and all 
the Sisters were asked to make a visit to the 
shrines some time during the day. Each saint 
then had a lamp of oil burning before his statue 
throughout the nine days. 

Considering all the smoke that poured over 



162 A Parish of Peace 

the place day and night, his church was won- 
derfully clean. His altar boys were well 
trained and always on time. They observed, 
too, the rule of silence in the sacristy. It was 
a crowded little nook, but no matter how loudly 
those boys had been talking and playing out- 
side, the moment they entered that sacristy 
they never spoke unless in answer to some 
question from the priest. 

"Father Coffey took a childlike delight," 
writes one of his friends, "in seeing the altar 
decorated with flowers. Sixty to eighty dol- 
lars were expended every Christmas and Eas- 
ter to beautify God's earthly home. For the 
Holy Hour, too, he always had fresh flowers." 

He was steady and regular in the Confes- 
sional and strongly urged frequent Com- 
munion. Missions were held at set intervals 
and for the portion of his congregation who 
could not grasp the English well enough, he 
engaged missionaries who spoke their lan- 
guage. During the week of the mission, he 
was in the highways and the byways gathering 
in the sinners. 

His reputation as a pursuivant made this 
part of his work comparatively easy. Hard 
shells broke open at his touch and slackers, at 
his approach, emerged from their dugouts. 



A Parish of Peace 163 

"Aw, what's the use," said one of them who 
had been pursued for two days. "I'm nearly 
dead, and he'll get me anyhow. The only 
way to get loose from him is to jump in the 
river." 

One instance of his following the strayed 
sheep occurs to me. During a mission we had 
been giving in his parish, he frequently be- 
wailed the fact that there was one man whom 
he could not get, who had not been near the 
church for years. 

"And yet Bill is a good fellow," he said. 
"He has the loveliest children going to our 
school and he provides well for his family. I 
can't think of him missing this chance." 

Mary was Bill's little daughter. Father 
Coffey enlisted Mary in the cause. 

"Mary," he said, "you will have to make the 
mission every night for your father." 

"Yes, Father, I'll make it for him," an- 
swered Mary. 

Mary came faithfully night after night, but 
had to report to Father Coffey: "No change 
in papa." 

"Too bad, Mary," said Father Coffey. 
"But we'll not give up." 

Friday night came bringing a heavy rain 
during the services. Father Coffey saw his 



164 A Parish of Peace 

chance. He got a big cloak and went into the 
church, found Mary and told her to come into 
the vestibule. When there: 

"Here, Mary," he said, "put this cloak 
around you and we'll run over to the house a 
minute. I want you to telephone to papa to 
come and take you home. Tell him to bring 
a raincoat for you." Mary obeyed, wonder- 
ing what it meant. 

"Now, Mary," said Father Coffey, "you 
hurry back to the church. Papa will be wait- 
ing for you at the door of the church, but don't 
you come out that way. You go up past the 
altar and go down that way to the basement 
where the religious articles are. Stay there as 
long as you can, picking out a nice pair of 
beads for yourself. Don't come out till I tell 
you. Here's something to buy the beads 
with." 

Mary was a bright girl and understood read- 
ily. The services closed and Mary made her 
way quickly down to the basement. Father 
Coffey stepped into the sacristy and there hap- 
pened upon me. 

"Father," he said, "I wish you wouldn't go 
into the confessional for a while to-night. I 
have a big fish I am catching to-night and you 
can help me. He'll be as good as fifty others. 



A Parish of Peace 165 

Go down to the basement and I'll meet you 
there after a while and tell you more." 

As much mystified as Mary was, I went 
down to the basement and waited. The pur- 
chasers of religious articles were leaving one by 
one and nothing happened. Meantime, Bill 
was waiting before the church door, wondering 
why Mary did not appear. He began to be 
anxious and to look in. Father Coffey spied 
him and going out to him said pleasantly : 

"Good evening, Bill. How did you enjoy 
the sermon?" 

"I wasn't at the sermon," said Bill, uneasily. 
"I'm waiting to bring Mary home. I wonder 
where she is." 

"Oh, Mary!" said Father Coffey, in appar- 
ent surprise. "I just saw Mary downstairs. 
She is getting a pair of beads or something. 
You just go around the church, Bill, and wait 
for her at the side door below. She'll be out 
right away." 

A moment after Father Coffey came on the 
jump into the basement and said to me: 

"You'll find your man standing just outside 
the door over there. Get him any way you 
can. I'll let nobody out that way." 

Then he saw Mary. "Don't you move yet, 
Mary," he warned. 



166 A Parish of Peace 

I wandered over to the door, opened it as 
though to look out at the rain still pouring 
down and saw a man alongside of me under 
the arch of the doorway. 

"Good evening," I said. "Big rain we're 
having." 

We began a conversation which ended with- 
in five minutes with Bill making his confession 
standing there in the doorway, the rain splash- 
ing all around us. It was easy to reach Bill, 
too. 

I think that in a sudden flash, Bill saw 
through the whole elaborate plan of Father 
Coffey and at that moment the grace of God 
made him see how he was pursued. The 
"Hound of Heaven" had touched him at last. 

"Thank God!" said Father Coffey, when I 
told him all was well. "Now, Mary, you can 
go to your father — and God bless you!" 



CHAPTER XIV 
STRAWS 

TO assemble such diverse forces and to gear 
them so accurately as to have them re- 
volve together without friction, is in itself a 
notable work. But to keep them as they have 
begun is the final test of values. Putting a 
hand to the plow is easy. The difficult thing 
is to keep from looking back and then letting 
go. Beginnings may be hard, but the un- 
broken, relentless continuing at it is harder. 
The grind of eternal vigilance is wearing on 
soul and body, yet that is the price, not alone 
of liberty, but of everything great that man 
attempts. 

This was a truth that Father Coffey reduced 
to practice in the upbuilding of his parish. 
He watched the gearing constantly and as soon 
as he noted the beginnings of trouble, he acted 
quickly. His watchfulness did not take the 
form of gossiping or of spying, however. He 
tabled nearly all tales and discouraged their 
bearers. If he considered a report, it was only 

167 



168 Straws 

to sift it to the bottom. He did not credit 
paper statistics. His method was to go to the 
person involved and there he depended upon 
getting the truth. Generally he did, because 
he was trusted. 

His action in any matter was carefully ad- 
justed to the character he was meeting. He 
was quick, but never pounced upon anyone, 
never nagged nor stormed. His intuition was 
exceptional and his corrections were always 
flavored with humor. 

One Sunday morning he was entering the 
church to say Mass, when his eye fell upon Sue 
Carbery, ordinarily a very staid and unpreten- 
tious, but to-day a highly decorated, person. 

"Good morning," said Father Coffey. "My 
God, Sue, you have enough powder on your 
face this morning to make a batch of biscuits!" 

"Father," replied Sue, not at all discon- 
certed, "I put on an extra supply. I'm going 
to be out for the day." 

A widow made a second marriage. A week 
later the newly wedded wife called at the rec- 
tory to have the priest settle matrimonial diffi- 
culties. 

"I am unable to account for the trouble," 
she said, "as I asked the guidance of St. Joseph 
in my choice." 



Straws 16& 

"Poor St. Joseph!" said Father Coffey. 
"That's the way people treat him. They go 
in front of him and make pious faces at him. 
Then they get behind him and shove him 
around until they have him over in the corner 
they've already picked out for him, whether he 
likes it or not ; and they put the words into his 
mouth. If you had let St. Joseph take a hand 
in this, all would be well; but he has the name 
without the gain." 

During one of his sermons a baby became 
restless and began to cry. The crying grew 
in volume until it filled the church and it be- 
came plain that either Father Coffey or the 
baby would have to stop. 

"There are two of us preaching in this 
church at once/' said he, "and I don't know 
which of us is giving the better sermon. When 
a baby cries in church, he is telling us two 
things. First, that there are babies in the fam- 
ily; and second, that the mother has come to 
Mass with her baby. On the whole, I think 
the babjr is preaching the better sermon and I'll 
let him go on with it. In the name of the 
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
Ghost." And he continued the Mass. 

A class of boys in the high school got a spell 
of coltishness and began some of their boys' 



170 Straws 

irresponsible plunging and galloping. Sister 
warned them to settle down, but the spring was 
in their blood and they had to go through with 
it. Finalfy Sister complained to Father Cof- 
fey, a thing she seldom did, and then told the 
boys they had better expect something as 
Father knew of their conduct. They settled 
down beautifully but they felt the worst had 
not yet arrived. A week passed and they were 
beginning to feel easy, when one morning 
Father Coffey appeared and proceeded to 
settle the matter. 

He said no word but immediately started 
showering blows right and left on the backs 
of the offenders, with a short rubber hose 
he had taken from his pocket. They all 
knew what the punishment was for and 
their thoughts were not of surprise but of 
escape. 

There was a large bookcase, with glass doors, 
on one side of the room and in a moment the 
quickwitted lads had ranged themselves with 
their backs to it, knowing that Father would 
be handicapped by this background. Then 
they threw up their hands. Father Coffey 
looked them over seriously and then spoke the 
only words that were said all through the per- 
formance. 



Straws 171 

"Good morning, Sister. Good morning, 
children," and walked out. 

It is, perhaps, bromidic to say that all the 
dogs of the town were friends of Father Cof- 
fey. Every modern novel hero is "loved by 
dogs and children." Whether the dogs loved 
Father or not, we have to say that Father liked 
dogs. Seeing this, a gentleman of the town 
presented him with a huge Newfoundland. 
Father Coffey was very proud of the animal 
and used to take him out on exhibition walks 
through the streets. But he had to give him 
up. 

"That wasn't a dog," he said. "It was a 
steam roller. I couldn't stand the expense. 
Every time he leaned against anything in the 
house, he broke it. After he began caving in 
the front porch I saw I'd have to take out a 
new insurance policy for cyclones. He'd 
make a fine house wrecker." 

Soon after this, his friend Father Ryan pre- 
sented him with another, a Boston bull dog, 
they called it. If the Bostonese knew about 
this, they tolerated a libel. He was the ugliest 
dog in the world, with a shape like Daniel 
Quilp's and a face that would have made a 
gargoyle jealous. When he arrived at the 
house and was uncrated, Father Coffey looked 



172 Straws 

at him sideways over the rim of his glasses and 
named him, "Pansy." He was loyal to Pansy, 
probably because of his friendship for Father 
Ryan. Whatever the reason, to any unfavor- 
able comments made about Pansy's beauty, he 
would seriously reply: 

"Pansy is a lovely dog. He's pedigreed. 
He belongs to a royal family." 

Every morning thereafter, himself and 
Pansy could be found walking up and down 
the front yard for Pansy's exercise. The Sis- 
ters passed that way to Mass in the morning 
and if by chance the dog would run to the 
fence to greet them, he would be reminded by 
Father Coffey calling to him in a tone of pro- 
fessorial reprimand, "Here, Pansy, choose 
your company." 

To live with Father Coffey in his home was 
to enjoy the ideal of priestly hospitality. A 
visitor there felt that surely enough he had 
come into harbor. Even outside the charm of 
his conversation, his "den" was a place to 
browse about in. He had a good sized library 
in which there was very little dead wood. 
Paintings and clever crayons done by the chil- 
dren in the school were among the most inter- 
esting of his pictures. Pottery was one of his 
minor hobbies and there were about twenty- 



Straws 173 

five pieces of the different wares set in odd 
corners. Just outside, on a small porch, he 
kept some hardy flowers. 

"I can't keep looking out at that smoke," he 
said. "It becomes depressing. I fight it with 
flowers. The poor things have nothing to 
breathe but smoke, though. They're only car- 
bon copies of flowers, but they cheer me up." 

An hour of entertainment was always cer- 
tain whenever Father Coffey gave one of his 
readings in palmistry. He had read some- 
what on the subject, had acquired some of the 
phraseology, and it was no effort to him to 
assume the inspired manner of the professional 
palmist. This, of course, was his main reli- 
ance for the complete success of the delusion. 

A casual visitor would easily be led to sup- 
pose him perfectly serious. He opened the 
session with an impressive talk on the reality 
of the hand's power of expression of character. 
Then in a casual way, he would exemplify by 
reading a hand of one of the company. The 
reading always started off with the magnificent 
qualities of the owner, portrayed so clearly in 
the lines that they startled Father Coffey into 
eloquence. 

Just when the client was about ready to 
vault into the seventh heaven with the sudden 



174 Straws 

realization of the marvelous qualities he always 
knew he possessed, but which never were ap- 
preciated before, he was winged with the 
solemn and single word shot at him: 

"But " then w 7 ould follow a series of re- 
verse qualities picked right off the same hand. 
This completely negatived the earlier reading 
and ran the client with so headlong a descent 
down into the criminal class, that at the close 
of the reading he felt like a murderer. Never 
a smile out of Father Coffey, though the com- 
pany was in pain with suppressed laughter. 
He must do his duty here. He must read just 
what he saw, and his manner and voice sug- 
gested that he was indeed an oracle. It was a 
scene worthy of the comedies of Shakespeare. 

He never read the same hand twice in the 
same way, as the lines changed, he said, with 
the soul's condition. So that a hero one day 
would very likely be a villain the next, and be 
glad he had thus far escaped the gallows. I 
shall not forget the way he used to close many 
of the readings of uninitiated clients. 

"The thumb," he would say. "Ah, the 
thumb — " this with an intense stage w r hisper as 
though the company must not hear it. "It's 
the thumb of a primitive hand — the thumb of 
a chimpanzee!" 



Straws 175 

His subjects of conversation took a wide 
range over people and things. He spoke of 
the absent with respect and no one could ap- 
preciate with more enthusiasm the good quali- 
ties of others. Often in the midst of an in- 
teresting discussion, he would be interrupted 
by a caller. He never delayed, but broke off 
immediately and went down to meet the per- 
son, greeting him cordially and taking up his 
business with no air of preoccupation. His 
grasp of a situation was rapid and thorough, 
his advice clear and decided, so that he attended 
to a great variety of matters with an unworried 
ease that was astonishing. 

In addition to all this, he published every 
month the "Parish Messenger," a sixteen page 
booklet. The advertising, the proof reading 
and most of the copy were attended to by him- 
self. A beautiful poem, or a striking religious 
thought in prose took up the front cover page, 
done in color. The articles followed closely 
the needs of the times. He wrote frequently 
on Socialism in all its aspects, realizing that his 
people needed a regular antidote against that 
particular form of irreligion. Neither was he 
afraid to say what he thought when political 
bigotry attacked the Church. He wrote on 
friendship often and the blessings of peace with 



176 Straws 

one another, of the home, of cheerfulness, of 
the advantages of the Catholic Faith. 

Financial reports were made regularly in 
the Messenger and the personal chat always 
took the note of appreciation of the spirit and 
generosity of the people of St. Agnes' parish. 
There was thankfulness for all favors done and 
praise for all worthy work. 

Father Coffey showed in this paper that he 
would have made a striking writer and a good 
editor. His style was himself. He talked 
with his pen. Directness, clearness and in- 
tensity made his articles interesting every line 
of them and worthy of the columns of any jour- 
nal. Humor is not absent and the whole is 
permeated with religious conviction and a 
forceful piety. 

If I could put down here the list of names 
in his financial report, nothing further would 
be needed to reveal the diversity of the nation- 
alities he was molding into the best kind of 
citizens; for he was leavening them with the 
grace of God in the spirit of the Catholic 
Church. 



CHAPTER XV 

THE LITTLE ONES 

44 T T E remains, too, a living force for good 
XJl in the limpid innocence of the children 
he guarded with a father's care," says Father 
Powers, writing of Father Coffey's work with 
the young. 

"No superintendent could take more interest 
in his school. He was an inspiration to teach- 
ers and pupils," are the words of one of the 
Sisters who taught in St. Agnes' School. 

These two brief statements indicate the al- 
pha and the omega of all Catholic school work. 
"Interest in the school" as the cause, must have 
the "limpid innocence of the children" as the 
effect; and nothing short of this result will 
satisfy the educational ideals of the Catholic 
Church. "Innocence in the children!" is her 
first and her most persistent demand; for she 
knows that without innocence there is no edu- 
cation. The most unconquerable ignorance is 
immorality. 

177 



178 The Little Ones 

It took no deep research to see that Father 
Coffey liked children. Written large on the 
surface of his activities was the predominating 
interest in the little ones of his parish. In his 
own nature, there was a boyishness that never 
waned ; and, with the children, he could give it 
room for play. Besides, as he once said, it was 
the kind of company that made it easy for him 
to think of his prayers, "For of such is the 
kingdom of heaven." 

For their part the children were completely 
at home with Father Coffey. They would 
walk right up and talk to him like little men 
and women; and, while they missed none of 
the humor and the fun of the talking, it was 
the serious side of them that appeared above 
the rest. Instinctively they caught the idea 
that back of the fun their pastor was reaching 
out to touch the best and noblest that was in 
them, because Father Coffey did not associate 
with the children for mere amusement, simply 
to pass away the time pleasantly. 

Woven through the apparently aimless tan- 
gle of quip and jest and passing question, un- 
obtrusive but distinctly felt, ran the unbroken 
threads of the greater things, the continuous 
though happy suggestions of the life of duty 
that lay before them. He met them upon their 



The Little Ones 179 

own level but gently kept striving to raise them 
higher. 

He did not, therefore, coddle the children at 
any time, but as occasion offered, told them 
the truth, sometimes not the immediately 
pleasant truth, with all the vivid directness 
that was his; and they looked at him with 
open eyes and took the truth understandingly 
and unflinchingly. They knew he loved 
them. 

He avoided the other extreme as well, the 
sense of conscious maturity of years and super- 
iority of wisdom. He did not regard the 
ofttimes tumultuous presence of children with 
a martyr's air of toleration of a necessary evil. 
Such an attitude was not, in his opinion, a sign 
either of maturity or of superiority. Icy 
aloofness had no part in his dealings with the 
young. He was not an advocate of the "Lit- 
tle-children-must-be-seen-and-not-heard" idea. 
In order to see them at all properly he thought 
they ought to be heard. "Out of the mouths 
of babes" he knew that perfect praise of God 
could come, and he gave his little friends every 
chance to reveal it. 

Practically he brought these things to pass 
with an easy simplicity. His visits to the class- 
room were frequent but not lengthy. He did 



180 The Little Ones 

not wish to interfere with the continuity of the 
teaching. His attitude while there was more 
that of a guest than of a superior. With a 
few questions and a word from the Sister he 
found out all he wished to know about conduct 
and studies and then he left. 

He watched particularly those children who 
seemed to lack talent for the school studies. 
He talked with them, observed them at their 
play, and wherever they "let themselves out," 
as he put it. He believed that shyness often 
kept children from showing themselves at their 
best. He obtained results from this method. 
"A child who lacked ability for brain work," 
writes one of the teaching Sisters, "was found 
to possess other qualities. These were gener- 
allv discovered in the ball game played in the 
alley." 

When a teacher reported a child as being a 
hopeless case, it was taken over to the rectory 
and for some time Father Coffey gave the 
child special help and training. These in- 
stances led him to be a strong advocate for in- 
dividual help for the backward pupil, and he 
was looking forward to the day when such help 
could be given in St. Agnes' School. 

The children who succeeded were generously 
and tactfully praised. Father Coffey let them 



The Little Ones 181 

know that he appreciated effort more than suc- 
cess. 

"It is the trying that counts more than the 
high marks/' he told them often. "I'd rather 
have done my best and be low in the class 
standing, than be first in the class and not have 
done my best." 

He was not anxious for the children to try 
to be "first" in the class. 

"It's a poor ideal," he said. "Later on, 
when you can't be first, you'll be tempted to 
think yourselves failures. And as soon as you 
think that, you are failures. I don't want any- 
body here to be a failure." 

In order to bring pupils to appreciate things 
beautiful, he encouraged painting, drawing 
and music. He would go into the music rooms 
and listen attentively to the playing, often not 
an easy task for one who liked the best music, 
but he always ended with a word of commenda- 
tion and good cheer. 

He inspected the drawings and the paintings 
and selected the best of them "to be hung in his 
salon," which meant his dining room. There 
they would be seen framed and on exhibition 
for his friends, until the next selection would 
be made and a new exhibit started. Many of 
the pieces, too, were sent to friends in Brook- 



182 The Little Ones 

lyn, which made the children feel that they 
were getting into the Louvre or the Sistine 
Chapel. All of which resulted in a great boom 
for painting and drawing. For children of 
their age, their work was excellent. 

At the end of the year, among other prizes, 
were those for the arts. Father Coffey would 
appoint from the men of the town, a committee 
of three, who would solemnly adjudge the 
merits of the artists. He would hover in the 
background with an appearance of great de- 
tachment, but at critical moments dropping a 
remark that would steer the judges whenever 
their decision seemed to hang doubtful. 

The reason for this shameful tampering 
with the ballot box was that the prizes were 
money prizes and wherever two pieces of work 
were about even in merit, Father Coffey 
wanted the money to go to the child that needed 
it the most. That child usually got the money. 

His financial backing in this department 
came from Mr. Wisener, who had discovered 
the school through the artistic penmanship of 
one of the little girls. From a fifty cent gift 
for handwriting, he had risen gradually and, of 
course, expensively, to the art section of the 
school until one of Father Coffey's latest Mes- 
sengers announced him as the donator of forty 



The Little Ones 183 

dollars to be distributed for meritorious work 
in painting and drawing. 

Father Coffey also watched attentively the 
development of individual characters. The 
restless age for boys begins strongly around 
fifteen. They feel the school desk a cage, the 
school hours a prison sentence, the school disci- 
pline a ball and chain riveted on them. They 
want to get out of there, away from there, to 
ramble at will over the earth. The wandering 
spirit possesses them and they must aviate. 

They throw down the books, those inden- 
tures of their slavery, and if told to take them 
up again, they paw up the ground and pass 
into the sulky stage. They're going to leave 
school, that's all there's to it. 

This is a problem in any school. When the 
Sisters met a case that they could not manage 
themselves, they sent the boy over to Father 
Coffey to have a last talk before jumping off 
the cliff. Father Coffey understood this phase 
of a boy's life and sympathized with it. 

"I know how you feel, Billy," he would say. 
"You feel rotten." 

"Rotten is the word, Father. I can't stand 
any more school. I want to go to work." 

"But, Billy, you haven't got your education 
vet." 



184 The Little Ones 

"I've got enough. Look at how big I am 
sittin' in those little seats!" says Billy, wild 
with mortification at the thought of it. 

"I know that, son. But look at how little 
you'll be when you get out there swinging a 
big maul eight hours a day and shoving freight 
cars up and down the track. The worst of it 
is you'll stay little all of your life. You'll 
never get a good job. Nowadays they're look- 
ing for a fellow with a 'bean/ a boy who can 
do some thinking. You can't think if your 
head isn't trained, and what training have you 
got? Just about enough to drive a coal 
wagon ! You don't want to drive a coal wagon 
for the next fifty years, do you, Billy?" 

"No, Father," says Billy, half aghast at that 
prospect. 

"Listen, son. I was just like you once. I 
wanted to get loose, to fly up in the air, to trot 
all over the ground; but I had some good 
friends. They held me down and I am thank- 
ing them every day of my life since. Now, 
I'm your good friend here. Let me hold you 
down for a while and I'll guarantee you'll 
never be sorry for doing what I told you. 
You'll do that, now, won't you, Billy?" 

"Yes, Father, I'll do it." 



The Little Ones 185 

"Come on, now, and we'll go down town and 
have some ice cream." 

"I don't want any ice cream now, Father. 
I'll go back to class." Billy settled down to 
his books again, and, writes his teacher, "we 
heard no more of quitting from that quarter." 

Occasionally, however, Father Coffey met 
defeat. This was when the culprit used 
Father's own tactics against him. 

Five-year-old Harry began wondering why 
the afternoons in school seemed so long. Af- 
ter deep thought he struck for shorter hours by 
the simple plan of "bumming" from school. 
He took the afternoons of a week off visiting 
neighbors. His parents discovered him and 
were greatly alarmed at Harry's early start as 
a bushranger. After chastising him them- 
selves, they asked Father Coffey to help them 
in Harry's reformation. Harry was called to 
the rectory. He sat in a little chair, looking 
with round, sad eyes at Father Coffey. The 
pastor spoke to him. 

"Harry, I hear that you have been running 
away from school." 

No word out of Harry. 

"Don't you know that's naughty?" 

Still an eloquent silence. 



186 The Little Ones 

"And if you run around with nobody to help 
you, don't you know that some day a big rho- 
dodendron will come galloping down the street 
and grab you?" 

A little shiver from Harry at the thought of 
the galloping rhododendron, but no other re- 
sponse. 

"Well, Harry, I don't know what to do with 
you," said Father. 

Harry got up from his chair, ran up to 
Father Coffey and threw his arms about 
Father's neck and kissed him. 

"I was conquered," said he, telling the story 
afterward. "That ended the correction." 

The children liked to give him presents and 
he took them for the pleasure they got from 
the giving. He carried about with him a little 
match box, a Christmas present from a poor 
boy, with as much appreciation of it as of a 
costly diamond. 

Their group gift to him at Christmas time 
was always planned as a "surprise." One year 
he mentioned to the Sisters that if the children 
wanted to give him a camera at Christmas it 
would be welcome, but that he desired to select 
a particular kind. 

"I'll be surprised," he said. 

Naturally a camera was decided upon by the 



The Little Ones 187 

children as the mysterious gift to Father Cof- 
fey. He ordered the camera himself, had it 
sent to the house and examined it. Then he 
sent it to the school. 

The presentation was made. Father was 
delighted and very much surprised. On the 
moment he decided to take a snapshot of the 
whole school as they stood before him. He 
adjusted the camera and suddenly discovered 
that a part was missing. 

"Frank," he said, forgetting that he had 
been "surprised," "go over to the house and 
get that missing part." 

"Sister," asked the children, "how did a part 
of our camera get over in Father's house?" 
They were the ones surprised. 

Every year, the children had their Christ- 
mas tree, trimmed by the young ladies of the 
parish to look like a little corner of Paradise, 
and hung with all kinds of glittering gifts. 
They had their school picnic, too, and there 
Father made the boj^s learn how to wait on the 
Sisters, reversing the schoolroom process. 

We have touched upon his spiritual care of 
the children when speaking of the general 
parish devotion. The "limpid innocence" of 
those young souls testifies to the worth of his 
work there. 



188 The Little Ones 

In addition to his care that they approach 
the Sacraments often, he impressed upon them 
the necessity of much prayer. The Sisters 
took the children to the church at eight o'clock 
to recite the rosary. Frequently he would call 
from his front porch as they were passing, 
"Sister, have them say the beads for my inten- 
tion to-day." 

Their school days over, he helped the boys to 
get positions, and followed them as they grew 
up. I remember inquiring about one of the 
boys in whom I was interested. 

"He is working at — ," he answered. "But 
they'll ruin him there from all I hear of the 
place. I'm getting him another position." 

It is easy to conclude that in all his dealings 
with the Sisters as to the management of the 
school, there was an entire absence of friction. 
His admiration of the work of Sisters in gen- 
eral, and in particular of those of his own 
school, was unbounded and was often ex- 
pressed. He did everything in his power to 
make their heavy work lighter and to rob 
teaching of its impending threat of monotony. 
It was his little kindnesses that did this, rather 
than any spectacular attempts at diversion. 
An incident that occurred on his first day in 
Mingo will indicate his spirit all through. 



The Little Ones 189 

"Sister X, our music teacher," writes one of 
the Sisters, "had been wishing for an organ for 
the school, but so far there seemed to be no 
prospect of getting one. I think that it was 
during Father Coffey's first visit with us that 
Sister mentioned the fact. Father laughingly 
answered : 

"Sister, I am shipping an organ with my 
furniture and if you can intercept it before it 
reaches my house, you may keep it." 

"My good Sister, nothing daunted, took 
Father at his word and watched every load of 
furniture that came up the hill. She was 
about to give up, when to her joy, along comes 
the dray with the coveted organ. She stepped 
outside and ordered the driver to place the 
organ in the school. 

" 'It was a plot/ said Father Coffey, 'but I'll 
enjoy the plot and I hope you'll enjoy the 
organ.' " 

He loved music and he had surrendered the 
only musical instrument he possessed. 



CHAPTER XVI 
AN ADVENTURE IN OIL 

OIL is a synonym for smoothness, but in 
these modern days it has made rough 
going for a sufficient number of our progres- 
sive countrymen who have gone out to seek it, 
if not with the high motives of a follower of the 
grail, at least, with the persistent hardihood of 
a voyager after the "Fountain of Youth." 

One thing an oil boom will do for any section 
of country — it will convert that land into the 
ugliest territory under heaven. The land of 
oil certainly does not look like the land of milk 
and honey. 

"Ah," the oil enthusiasts will breathe at you, 
"it may be homely, but it is rich. The hands 
may be the hands of Esau, but the voice is the 
voice of Jacob. And the sound of that voice 
is all we care about. It sings grand opera 
for us." 

The oil boom struck Mingo, shortly after 
Father Coffey was appointed as pastor. The 
whole district still bears the marks of the dis- 

190 



An Adventure in Oil 191 

ease. Hundreds of skeleton derricks, like 
hideous gibbets, stud the land at intervals all 
about the scene (in many cases still active) of 
feverish diggings and drillings. 

It is easy to stand at a distance and express 
a cold detachment from oil wells. A differ- 
ence comes with the inhalation of the oil atmos- 
phere. Only those who have lived in a com- 
munity blessed, or afflicted, with oil, can pro- 
perly gauge the situation, feel the thrill or even 
outline the experiences. It would take the 
"movie" with its rapid succession of trans- 
formation, to convey the correct impressions 
to the uninitiated. 

When the first test around Mingo resulted 
in a considerable show of oil, there was a mad 
scramble for leases. The Widow Jones, who 
owned a quarter of acre of weedy ground, dis- 
covered after signing a paper she could 
scarcely read, that her shack was now located 
on "The Golden Stream Oil and Gas Com- 
pany" lease, with a flock of agents making a 
sortie on every "tenderfoot" that came near 
their web and inviting said tenderfoot after 
payment of a nominal sum, a mere nothing, to 
dip his barrels into the "golden stream" and to 
fill them with the food of millionaires. 

Most of the leases were esteemed so valuable 



192 An Adventure in Oil 

that they were held on the basis of "sixteenths/' 
That is to say, the stock was divided into six- 
teen parts and priced to cover the entire cost 
of lease, drilling and equipping. 

Father Coffey used to tell of one man who 
had a very small property. With no means to 
finance drilling, he organized a stock company 
selling "sixteenth" shares at one hundred and 
seventy-five dollars. 

A wild dash was made for the new spot. 
Investors tumbled over one another to pick up 
their fortune in oil. When this particular or- 
ganizer came to take account of his properties, 
he discovered, Father Coif ey said, that he had 
sold forty-two "sixteenths." Drilling had be- 
gun and now he stood facing the law and per- 
haps a prison sentence for fraud. 

The only escape was prayer and he began 
to pray God that no oil would be struck on his 
land. 

"Any time of the night," said Father Coffey, 
"you could come upon the old man wandering 
around that claim beseeching the Lord that if 
He had put oil under this lease, He would 
drain it off before the drill got through the cap- 
rock. He was the only one in the locality who 
prayed that he might not 'strike it rich/ " 



An Adventure in Oil 193 

And, as Father Coffey told it, he was the 
only one who obtained his petition. 

Looking on at a scene like this and seeing 
everyone "squeezing the oil out of the ground 
right under his nose," Father Coffey began to 
think. He met men who, a few months back 
had hustled a pick and shovel, now lolling sar- 
torially and senatorially in luxurious automo- 
biles. He heard women whom he had seen 
hanging out the family wash and sweeping the 
front sidewalk, now languidly ordering their 
chauffeurs and moaning about their maids and 
their oriental rugs. 

"Is there no balm in Gilead?" thought 
Father Coffey. His mind was not upon him- 
self but upon his church. Everyone else was 
getting the oil. Why couldn't his parish have 
some. Then he would have the new church 
and the new school and everybody would live 
happily ever afterwards. 

"The Lord filled the widow's cruse with 
oil," he said, "and we need oil in this parish just 
as much as she ever did. I'm going to pray 
for something to happen to us in oil." 

Sure enough, something did happen. 
Friends who had organized a local company 
gave him a present of some stock. They "car- 



194 An Adventure in Oil 

ried him along for luck," they said. Then they 
started drilling their first well. 

"Never in my life," said Father Coffey, 
"shall I forget the days of that baby well. 
The excitement was frightful, increasing as 
the drill went down. We would go out every 
day to see how the work went on. No reason 
for our being there, but we couldn't stay away. 
Talked oil all the time. If anyone had asked 
me how to spell any w r ord at all, I'd have said, 
'O-i-1.' And if eyes were drills, we'd have 
been down a thousand feet in a minute. 

"Then we'd meet over to one side and dis- 
cuss profoundly how we were to dispose of our 
profits. That new English Gothic church I 
was after became so real that I got to be sur- 
prised of mornings on looking out my window 
not to see it there on the hill. It seemed, in 
fact, that each one slept with a pad and a pencil 
beneath his pillow so that if he awoke in the 
night, dreaming of a new way to spend his 
fortune, he might write it down before another 
idea replaced it." 

The day the w T ell came in, found all the pro- 
moters gathered around the derrick looking on 
at the last preparations before the drill was 
sent into the pay sand. 

"We stood there," said Father Coffey, 



An Adventure in Oil 195 

"trying to assume that look of stolid manly im- 
perturbability, but inside we were shrieking 
with excitement." 

The cap-rock was struck. The drill went 
into the pay sand. Just heavens! No oil! 

"We took a last look at the corpse," con- 
cluded Father Coffey, "and left like a lot of 
pall bearers. I don't know how I got home. 
I think I walked home backwards." 

Though no oil had been found and though 
disappointment was keen, yet what was 
strange to Father Coffey was the feeling of 
confidence which quickly reasserted itself in 
all except himself. They met again and 
talked much about the dead well. The quality 
of the sand was good and the quantity fair. 
They got into a pleasant glow over that sand 
which surely indicated oil nearby. 

Father Coffey surveyed the group, now on 
their way to a second jump, owing to the 
splendid sand they got in the dead well. They 
poured so much sand around him that he finally 
interrupted them, saying: 

"Gentlemen, I thought I was given stock 
in an oil company, but I find I have been 
swindled into accepting shares in a sand bank." 

Other gifts of stock followed the first, al- 
ways with the same result. Believing that his 



196 An Adventure in Oil 

luck might change, if he invested some money, 
he took a sixteenth in a well about to be drilled 
in West Viiginia. A reputed authority on oil 
prospects offered him a "sixteenth" on what 
was said to be an excellent lease. Father Cof- 
fey took it. Not a drop of oil anywhere about, 
"though I assisted," said he, "in helping to 
make a pin cushion of that farm." 

One day here when the third or fourth dry 
hole had "come in," the field man called a 
meeting of the stockholders. The log of the 
last well was read and as usual the manager 
produced a handful of fine sand. 

"We did not hit oil, gentlemen," he said, 
"but we have the finest sand in the whole 
district. Put the glass on it and see for your- 
selves." 

Father Coffey, impatient of this eternal 
sand, looked grimly at the few grains that had 
been poured into the palm of his hand and 
said : 

"It has cost me more to see that sand than 
to see the whole of Europe." 

One might imagine that such disastrous at- 
tempts to "get oil" would have discouraged 
him. Not so. 

"It appears to me," he said, "that I am on 
the wrong side of this oil business. In every 



An Adventure in Oil 197 

company I am referred to as the 'party of the 
second part.' The party of the first part se- 
cures the lease, portions out the cost, signs the 
beautifully engraved certificates, and thought- 
fully permits 'party of the second part' to bear 
the expenses, I shall become the 'party of the 
first part.' " 

The idea was more quickly realized than he 
had expected. A man whom Father Coffey 
had befriended, wishing to show his gratitude, 
as he said, tried to get him to induce friends 
to invest in a new company. Father Coffey 
investigated and discovered that the fellow 
had no leases whatever in the county he claimed 
was largely his. During his investigation, 
however, the same leases were offered him and 
thus within a few short hours he had reached 
what seemed to him, from his past experiences, 
the summit of oil fame. He had become a 
"party of the first part." 

The "party of the first part" had an agent 
lease up about one half of a big county. It 
didn't seem to matter much whether the geo- 
logical survey showed the territory decid- 
edly poor in oil bearing sands ; or, that for the 
most part only small quantities of gas were 
discovered, barely sufficient to heat the farm 
house adjoining the well. 



198 An Adventure in Oil 

His utter disregard, too, of so primary a 
factor in oil as "sand" provoked endless amuse- 
ment among his friends. He never could be- 
lieve in the necessary connection of the two. 
So with a magnificent and ritual solemnity 
that only a Father Coffey could lend to such 
an occasion, he signed a contract for a well on 
one of his leases. 

The driller employed had an outfit which 
might possibly do to drill a water well, but 
never under any circumstances could reach 
even a shallow pool of oil, had one been there. 
The driller knowing less about the "party of 
the first part" than Father Coffey did about 
him or his rig, insisted that the money for the 
drilling be deposited in a bank in the vicinity 
of the operations. Father Coffey agreed. 

Accompanied by a friend, he went in to 
Cleveland, not far from the place, and not be- 
ing acquainted with any of its banking insti- 
tutions, wandered up and down, surveying 
with a critical eye the various banking houses. 
Finally, a massive pile with huge Corinthian 
columns, struck his eye. 

"That's the bank for me!" he said. "It cer- 
tainly looks strong." 

Entering the bank, he was met by one of 
the officials to whom he explained his business, 



An Adventure in Oil 199 

with such impressiveness that a special trust 
officer was detailed to wait upon him, and he 
and his friend were conducted to a private 
booth. 

"I am the president of an oil company," said 
Father Coffey with the suave and confidential 
condescension of a magnate, "and this is my 
manager. We have located new and wonder- 
ful oil bearing lands in this vicinity and we 
contemplate extensive operation. We shall 
astonish the country. Our intention is to 
make this bank our sole depository and I have 
come to-day to make a preliminary deposit, 
merely to insure the business." 

The officer listened carefully, with increas- 
ingly deferential attention as the language of 
Father Coffey grew grandiloquent. At its 
close he was evidently expecting a first de- 
posit of not less than twenty-five thousand 
dollars. In a most respectful tone the officer 
finally came to the point. 

"And how much would you like to deposit 
with us?" 

"Just this for to-day," said Father Coffey, 
"merely as a preliminary, you understand." 
And he laid on the table three hundred and 
fifty dollars. 

"What!" exclaimed the official, in a tone of 



200 An Adventure in Oil 

poorly suppressed disgust. "I understood you 
to talk of oil wells. Perhaps I was mistaken. 
It must be a water well you are drilling." 

"Water well!" said Father Coffey, with 
hauteur. "Do you think I am a President of 
a Water Peddlers' Association?" 

The money was accepted but when the presi- 
dent and his manager left, nobody walked with 
them to the door. 

"Did you see the way he looked at us when 
we gave him our money?" said Father Coffey 
to his manager when they reached the sidewalk. 
"You'd think we were two fakirs. When our 
wells begin to produce, we'll let him see that 
we'll bank elsewhere." 

After a short interval, word came that the 
great day had arrived. The well was due. 
Early in the morning after his Mass, he 
lighted a lamp at each of the little shrines in 
the church and told the Sister sacristan to keep 
them burning all day. He sent word to the 
convent asking for special prayers during the 
day for "a very important business matter." 
Then with thrills of expectancy he left for the 
scene, dreaming on the way of the new English 
Gothic church. 

Next morning himself and his manager 
stood at the well. 



An Adventure in Oil 201 

"And how is everything going, sir?" said 
Father Coffey to the driller, with the dignity 
that befitted the President of the Company. 

"We're down three hundred and twelve 
feet/' answered the driller. "And I'm sorry 
to report that the hole is flooded with water to 
within ten feet of the top." 

"I'm not Rebecca at the well," said Father 
Coffey. "I came here for oil, not water." 

"There's no oil yet," said the driller. 

Father Coffey knew that whatever little oil 
had been discovered in that county lay at a 
depth of over fifteen hundred feet. In spite 
of this he consults his check book and finds he 
has funds enough to drill five feet more. He 
waves his hand. 

"Go down five feet more," he orders, and 
walks away to survey his remaining leases. It 
was like sticking one's finger in the ocean to 
bring up the Spanish Armada. 

But in spite of the thrills and the humor of 
it, Father Coffey felt that his adventure in oil 
was drawing to a close. "I see it plainly," he 
said. "The Lord never intended a priest to 
be rich." 

He paid some few bills for things he never 
before knew had reference to the oil industry; 
ordered a gas stove for a family that had done 



202 An Adventure in Oil 

him kindnesses ; bought a ticket for home, and 
purchased a pair of durable shoes, saying: 

"I'll have to walk to my holdings after this 
and I'll need to be well shod to walk so far 
from home." 

Arriving home that evening he passed the 
Sister sacristan on her way from church. She 
looked at him inquiringly, as though to read 
from his countenance the happy results of her 
care of the shrines that day, and of all the 
prayers said for his success. 

With a stolid face he stalked by the Sister, 
but just as he passed, he said: 

''Blow out those lights." 

This was the last of the oil boom for Father 
Coffey. Gas was discovered on his leases and 
he got most of his investment out of it. The 
rest he refused to credit to the teachings of 
experience. 

''Experience isn't a teacher," he said. 
"She's a murderer. She murdered my dreams 
of a beautiful English Gothic church." 

His ideas of the possibilities in being an oil 
magnate also shrunk. 

"Being 'party of the first part' is all right in 
theory," he remarked. "The trouble is that 
there are not enough people who belong to the 
'party of the second part.' " 



CHAPTER XVII 
A SEA CHANGE 

FATHER COFFEY had been ten years 
in Mingo and had not taken what one 
might call a real vacation. His people often 
told him he should go away for a good rest but 
he kept postponing it until he could feel that 
he had things as he wished them. 

In the summer of 1914, he decided to go to 
Europe for a good visit, to view historic 
scenes, to study the immortal masterpieces of 
art, but above all things to see the Holy 
Father, Pius X, and to obtain his blessing for 
himself and the parish of St. Agnes. 

For a time after he made the decision to go, 
he was in the happiest mood and in conversa- 
tion he would often remark to his friends, 
"Just wait till I go to Europe." However, as 
the time approached for his departure, they 
noticed that his gayety lessened and he began 
to feel lonesome at leaving the parish. 

"If my ticket were not bought," he now said, 

203 



204 



A Sea Change 



"I should not go at all. I think I am getting 
'cold feet'." 

Before he left, an entertainment was ar- 
ranged for him and the parish presented him 
with a purse as a token of their appreciation 
of his work among them. He strove to thank 
them, hut he was so overcome with emotion 
that his voice failed. Thev had never seen him 
moved so. Indeed, the parting was equally 
felt on both sides. 

Once he started his journey, however, he 
enjoyed it thoroughly, never forgetting by 
cards and messages to keep in touch with his 
parish and to have them share in his pleasure. 
On the boat he soon became known among 
the passengers and his affability and usual wit 
made the voyage a delight. The letters that 
came to his family after his death from passen- 
gers who had met him for the first time on this 
trip, reveal the lasting impression he had made 
upon them. 

On the way over an incident occurred that 
serves to reveal Father Coffey in two charac- 
teristic phases of his character. 

Among the passengers was a lady who was 
in a very sad state of depression. She had 
been bereft of a favorite nephew, who was to 



A Sea Change 205 

her, she said, as a son. Her grief was piercing 
and so continuous and so much in evidence that 
it threatened to cast a shadow over the whole 
voyage. The passengers did all they could to 
cheer her, and to distract her mind from its 
mournful brooding. They failed completely. 
The more they tried, the more despairing she 
became until they were themselves infected 
with the gloom. 

Father Coffey noted this unusual condition 
of melancholy and set himself to bring cheer 
and comfort to the wounded heart. He 
wished not only to relieve the suffering soul but 
to prevent the passengers from losing the 
pleasure of their trip. 

Through a considerable part of two days he 
tried to suggest consoling thoughts, advising 
prayer and resignation. He made no visible 
progress. The lady still weltered in grief. 
The evening of the second day, one of the pass- 
engers spoke to him and said: 

"Father, how goes the patient?" 

"Worse, if anything," replied Father Cof- 
fey. "I am a dismal failure." 

"And I think you will remain so," said the 
passenger. "Do you know when this nephew 
died?" 



206 A Sea Change 

"No, sir, I do not/' said Father Coffey. 

"He died just seventeen years ago, Father," 
said the passenger. 

That was enough for Father Coffey, as well 
as for the nephew. He went immediately to 
find the Lady of Tears. 

"Madam/ 5 he said, "I am given to under- 
stand that this nephew of yours is dead seven- 
teen years. Now I have two strong sailors 
hired on this boat and the next whimper from 
you on this voyage, at a signal from me, they 
are going to throw you overboard." 

That was the end of the Clouded Lady. 
She was a professional sob artist seeking the 
spot light. 

Father Coffey's route was the usual one fol- 
lowed by tourists, with Rome the end in view. 
When he arrived there, he found, to his great 
regret, that the Holy Father was in his last 
illness and had ceased to receive all visitors. 
Among the friends he made in Rome was the 
late Father Charles Macksey, the American 
Jesuit, a professor in the Gregorian Univers- 
ity. He often spoke of Father Macksey with 
high regard. 

The war now broke out and Father Coffey 
was compelled to shorten his vacation and to 
hurry home. He embarked at Naples for the 



A Sea Change 207 

return. This was a voyage of a different char- 
acter from the voyage out. The passengers 
were tense with nervousness. They were in 
the war zone, with the possibility of an attack 
at any moment from above, from below, from 
all quarters of the horizon. Every speck on 
the sea was the periscope of a submarine; 
every unusual noise an airplane; every whisp 
of cloud the smoke from a hostile battleship. 

Father Coffey had plenty to do in removing 
their fears and steadying their nerves. The 
following reminiscence from the Reverend Dr. 
Edwin E. Rogers, Rector of the Presbyterian 
Church in Rowling Green, Ohio, will convey 
to us an idea of the poise of Father Coffey in 
time of danger, and at the same time of his 
quick thoughtfulness for others. 

"I first met Father Coffey," writes Dr. 
Rogers, "on board ship the morning after we 
left Naples late the night before. During the 
days we were in Naples, seeking passage home, 
all sorts of rumors concerning the war were 
afloat, and every one was somewhat nervous. 
While looking at a queer appearing craft in the 
distance, I became conscious that some one was 
near, and looking up saw Father Coffejr. We 
at once entered into conversation, and an ac- 
quaintance commenced which became more and 



208 A Sea Change 

more intimate until we bade each other good- 
by, September 22nd, on the pier in New York." 

"During our companionship, we talked 
freely upon all kinds of subjects. Sometimes 
we discussed our theological views; at other 
times the problems which confronted us in our 
parishes, and again our experiences in dealing 
with certain phases of irreligion. In these 
conversations there was an unusual frankness 
and cordiality, and never for a moment was 
manifest the slightest controversial spirit. As 
I recall our talks, he appears before me as a 
brother Christian with a great heart, which was 
warm towards all that was right. 

"I especially recall the conversation of one 
morning. I had asked him whether in Amer- 
ica, and in our day, he found his young people 
at all restless under the Confessional. During 
the somewhat lengthy conversation I learned 
much of the working of this institution of the 
Roman Catholic Church and saw more of its 
advantages than I had ever before seen. 

"On another occasion we were discussing 
the drinking habits formed by some of our 
young men. He condemned the saloon, con- 
sidering it as a source of great evil and an in- 
fluence which led astray many a young man. 
He spoke of his endeavor to counteract this 



A Sea Change 209 

influence and keep his young men sober. For 
some time when a young man appeared for 
Confirmation he required him to sign a pledge 
that he would not drink intoxicating liquors 
until he was twenty-one years old. The plan 
worked in quite a satisfactory manner, 

"Father Coffey on many occasions mani- 
fested a ready wit. Only a few of his sayings 
at this time am I able to recall. One morning 
as we were walking the ship's deck, under an 
awning, we noticed that while it was raining, 
and the sea was rough, the crew was busily 
painting the smoke-stack. This was black 
with a red band, and now they were painting it 
a dull gray. Everyone was nervous, as no 
explanations were given for the change. A 
young lady met us and anxiously asked: 

" 'What does that mean? Are there Ger- 
man boats near? ' 

"We were aboard an English steamer and 
did not care to meet German boats. Father 
Coffey made some general remark, then added 
something to this effect : 

" 'The news this morning is more assuring. 
The wireless tells us that the entire Swiss navy 
has sailed from port, commissioned to devas- 
tate the valley of the Rhine. And another 
item is that some Irish battleships are sailing, 



210 A Sea Change 

loaded with three thousand heavy-armed 
Irishmen, who are thoroughly aroused, and are 
bound for the German front, anxious to be in 
the fight. When the Prussians meet these fel- 
lows they will turn and flee for Berlin.' 

"The lady appeared comforted, and hastened 
away to impart the inspiring news to other 
despondents. As we walked on, Father Cof- 
fey remarked : 

" 'You know some one has to say something 
of this sort to keep these poor mortals from 
hysteria.' " 

Meantime in Mingo, everyone from the little 
children to the oldest folk of the parish, was on 
tiptoe for the return of Father Coffey. He 
had kept them fully informed of all his move- 
ments. 

It was planned that the day Father arrived 
in Mingo the children should go to the depot 
in a body to meet him. They were to march 
there in ranks, everything nice and orderly. 

"Needless to say," writes the Sister who 
tells us this story, "there was very little done 
with the lessons that day. Just as they lined 
up ready to march, some one called: 

" 'There's Father Coffey coming up the 
hill.' With that, the children gave one bound. 
Ranks were flung to the winds and all the 






A Sea Change 211 

teachers could see were heels, as the children 
ran down the hill to extend their greeting in 
their own fashion. He had come on a train 
just ahead of the one we expected. 

"The Sisters were waiting at the convent. 
The first signs of the advance were several 
boys pulling a little express wagon which con- 
tained Father's two suit cases. Then they 
knew he had arrived. A moment more and 
three hundred children, with Father in the 
midst of them, turned the corner at the foot of 
the hill. 

"All the people were out to extend a warm 
welcome and as he passed by them he had to 
greet each of them from the center of the crowd 
of children. When Father stopped the chil- 
dren stopped, and when he crossed the street 
and came close enough for us to appreciate 
the situation, it was a sight to behold. 

"Each child seemed to think he should have 
the privilege of being as near to Father as 
possible. A number of them were holding 
him by the hands. Others satisfied themselves 
by catching hold of his coat and trousers. It 
was laughable, as Father Coffey rarety found 
himself in a predicament where he was unable 
to help himself. But this time he was 
swamped. 



212 A Sea Change 

"Walking was difficult and it is no wonder 
that his face was as rosy as an apple. By pa- 
tiently picking his way step by step, he finally 
reached the convent and the first words the 
Sisters heard him say were: 

" 'My God, this is worse than the war!' 

"In order to free himself from the children 
he came up the convent steps, looked out at 
the children and at the people and thanked 
them for their kindness to him. 

" 'To-morrow, 5 he said, 'we'll have a grand 
reunion and I'll tell you all about everything.' 

"Then he said to the children, 'Children, I 
have been free for two months and I think you 
ought to have a day. You're free now for the 
rest of the day. Beat it right away.' ' ! 

Amid shrill and merry shouts, the children 
"beat it." 



CHAPTER XVIII 
L TRADE TILL I COME 

THEUE is no man, perhaps, taking him as 
a class, who is more thoroughly uncon- 
scious of the good he does, than the parish 
priest. There is a supernatural reason for 
this — and a natural. For the priest believes 
that as a messenger of God's Gospel and a dis- 
penser of God's grace through the Sacra- 
ments, he is merely an instrument in the Divine 
hands and, therefore, he rightly attributes all 
ultimate work to God. "I plant," he says 
with St. Paul, "Apollo waters, but God gives 
the increase." Always present to his mind, 
too, are the words of Christ — " Without Me, 
you can do nothing." These words hold for 
every human being, it is true, but the priest, 
like Paul, takes them to himself in a special 
manner as a particular warning against the 
possible temptation of attributing to himself 
any of the final results of his high ministry. 

From a natural standpoint, also, there is a 
reason for his unconsciousness of doing great 

213 



214 Trade Till I Come 

good. The priest does not see his work. He 
does indeed build churches and schools; but 
should you make comment upon this, he will 
tell you that it is the Sisters who are doing the 
good, under God, in the school, and that God, 
too, is fashioning the souls in the church. As 
for the buildings themselves, they are simply 
the shells within which the work is done. 
"Anyone can build," he will say. 

He moves about among his people, indeed, 
and cares for them day after day ; but when the 
very last touch is given that the priest knows 
means the life of the soul, it is invisible to him 
and he knows that touch has not been his own. 
So he goes ahead with his steady routine, 
busied, as far as his immediate natural view 
carries him, with the little things. A line 
added here, a corner rounded off there, like 
Michael Angelo with his statue. Only, the 
priest sees not that line nor that rounded cor- 
ner, nor can he step back at any time and con- 
template with satisfaction the finished work. 
He may have a general sense that things go 
well in the parish, that Mr. Brown or Mrs. 
Black is doing better now than formerly, that 
Billy and Margaret are improving and give 
promise of growing into fine manhood or 
womanhood; but at best the vision is vague, 






Trade Till I Come 215 

misted over with uncertainty to the natural 
sight, and clear only to the eye of faith. 

The parish priest has not the natural ad- 
vantage of knowing just how his work is going. 
He cannot tap the fruit to see its ripeness. 
He has no gauge to measure accurately the 
contents of a soul; no speedometer to register 
its actual forward movement. He plants, he 
waters, but the increase he must perforce leave 
with God. 

The professor can quiz his class and ascer- 
tain just how each individual has seized his 
lectures; the speaker, by his visible sway over 
his hearers, the artist through his critics, the 
man of business from his cash box can esti- 
mate, each one, his location as accurately as the 
sailor finds his latitude and longitude. With 
the parish priest it is not so. He is so close 
to his work that he cannot see it in perspective 
and the key to its real progress is held in an- 
other world. 

An observant outsider can value the parish 
priest's total work much better, even though 
he cannot see the multitude of infinitesimal 
touches that brought that total into being. As 
a missionary who has moved about for some 
years in this particular field of parishes, I con- 
sider myself exceptionally fortunate in having 



216 Trade Till I Come 

been able to get at least a bird's-eye view of 
this wonderful work of the parish priest. The 
persistent leavening vitality of the Catholic 
Church, as witnessed in this medium, came to 
me as a revelation. I had the belief before 
this, of course, that such was the fact; but it 
was something almost in the abstract, a mere 
adumbration of the reality that rose before me 
with the vision of the actual work. 

The contrast between a district that has its 
priest and one that has not, is as sharp as the 
difference between black and white. To re- 
turn to a parish after some years and to note 
the steadily higher tides of grace flooding that 
little world of souls, forces one to cry out, 
"This is, indeed, the great work of the Cath- 
olic Church! This is the great answer to the 
apostolic call, 'Go forth and teach all nations, 
baptizing them in the name of the Father and 
of the Son and of the Holy Ghost/ " 

Yet if one were to ask any priest what he is 
doing, he would answer, "Planting, watering; 
'things of the common hour.' " 

Father Coffey was such a priest. We have 
looked closely enough upon his life to see a 
man of unwavering faith, of supreme unselfish- 
ness, of universal appeal, of resolute buoyancy 
and a penetrating intelligence, devoting the 



Trade Till I Come 217 

best that was in him to an uninterrupted suc- 
cession of little things. He had no desire for 
notoriety, for change, for prominent position. 
Because he felt that God had already put him 
in what He judged was the most prominent 
position possible in the world of men — close to 
human souls. He never showed the least 
yearning for anything else except this work of 
the Good Shepherd; and when we come to 
think of it, the noblest action of the good shep- 
herd in the parable, was that little thing of 
going after the lost sheep. 

We have not wished, therefore, to present 
Father Coffey as a man apart from the body 
of the priesthood. He was unique, it is true, 
and decidedly individual. But every man is 
this, though it may not always be caught at 
first glance. The essential work that Father 
Coffey did is the work of all priests, each one 
approaching it in his own fashion, each one 
differing in personal gifts and opportunities 
but all with a like devotion to the cause and a 
like capacity for sacrifice. For they are all 
modeled on the Great High Priest, Jesus 
Christ. 

"Were I permitted to use but a single word 
in defining Father Coffey's character," says 
Father Powers in his In Memoriam, "I would 



218 Trade Till I Come 

say that he was priestly, which means that 
should duty call him to face danger, he would 
not turn on his heel to save his life." 

That is the sum of Father Coffey's life. It 
was his sole aim, his only ambition, to be like 
Christ, and it is the sole ambition of every good 
priest as well. 

No matter where he was, or what doing, this 
sense of priestliness in Father Coffey was 
never missed by any who had dealings with 
him, whether they were Catholics or not. 
When his people lost him, they mourned for 
him as a dear friend but especially as their 
priest. 

They were soon to lose him. Contrary to 
all appearances, Father Coffey's health had 
never been robust. We can recall how in his 
home letters from college, he used to mention 
his headaches. He never made a specialty of 
health talk, regarding it as a rather self-cen- 
tered subject, and it played no part in his con- 
versations with his friends. He suffered much 
more, however, than any one of them suspected. 
His stomach, too, gave him much trouble; 
though with his perennial sunniness of temper, 
he concealed all dangerous symptoms from 
those about him until the end. 

The last letter I received from him was 



Trade Till I Come 219 

written about a month before his death. 
Though the shadow was hanging over him 
then, there was apparently not a cloud in the 
sky. 

He wrote it during Christmas week, just af- 
ter his parish had presented him with an auto- 
mobile, planned by them as a "surprise" gift, 
but which we can see from the letter, they 
failed to keep hidden from him. 

The name "Billy" in the address is a rem- 
iniscence of the mission given in his parish 
three years before, which coincided with a re- 
vival given in Steubenville by Evangelist Sun- 
day. Father Coffey playfully transferred the 
name to me. It was his fashion among his 
friends to re-baptize them with whimsical 
names, as a mark of his humorous affection. 

Thibet, December 27, 1915. 
My Dear Billy: 

It is very late but I must get a Christmas 
letter to you, or be ashamed of myself for a 
long time. Your card, your letter and your 
book came. Thanks for all, the book espe- 
cially. It is so fascinating and so practical 
that I shall read it to the upper grades in the 
school and then place it in the school library. 

Well, that dinner at Father Kenny's. I 



220 Trade Till I Come 

looked forward to the affair with much pleas- 
ure and was certain I'd be there; but the awful 
cold I contracted in September was at its 
worst about that time, and though I had hoped 
till the last that I might take a chance, yet the 
view of all that was to come on me at Christ- 
mas compelled me to give up the idea, and I 
was a boor the whole day and all the rest of 
the week because I did not get to Parnell's 
Pink Tea. 

The upon whom I relied for a man at 

Christmas, failed me at the last moment. I 
suppose the fault was mine. I thought they 
knew I wanted a man, and, not hearing from 
me till too late, they supposed I had engaged 
someone else so I had to face the job alone, 
and, believe me, I was a sick boy. 

I got through all right and after it had the 
pleasantest Christmas that ever arrived in my 
variegated career. I had Father Dooley and 
my cousin, Jim Coffey, now a newspaper man, 
for dinner and it was the most delightful party 
imaginable. 

After dinner Dooley donated his Primitive 
Hand to Coffey, assumed yours, and I insisted 
on keeping my artistic manipulator in spite of 
every protest from the parties to the second 
part. 



Trade Till I Come 221 

That seance lasted from two-thirty to three- 
thirty and at four I was called over to the 
school to be "surprised." The auto was there, 
a seven passenger Studebaker! So was a 
delegation of about a hundred, in the midst of 
a blinding snow storm. They came from 
Steubenville and Mingo and were composed 
of Jews, Gentiles, pagans, besides my parish 
of Slavs, Hungarians, and descendants of 
Brian Boru, who will always be found some- 
where near the priest. 

The gathering was genuinely cosmopolitan. 
Father Dooley made the speech of presenta- 
tion. I made one in response and before the 
cigars were passed — the cigars were gifts to 
me from misguided friends — and whilst the 
enthusiasm was at its highest point, I ap- 
pointed a committee to be augmented ad in- 
definitum, to supply me with gasoline and tires 
for one year. Rejoicing they fell for it. So 
the car is a free will gift for a whole year. 
Wasn't that clever for a poor simple thing like 
me? O Billy, would that I had your brass! 

After that, away we went for a spin over 
the hills and into the beautiful valleys of this 
beautiful Ohio country. The snow had 
stopped and we had fine roads for the first trip, 
anyway. 



222 Trade Till I Come 

Besides giving me the auto and supporting 
it for a year, Santa was most generous — so 
generous that I shall leave for Florida, on a 
free trip as soon as I can go after the feast of 
St. Agnes. That will freshen me up for my 
work wonderfully. 

Joking aside, all I can say is, these people 
are too good to me. I would not change them 
for any people I know. I am perfectly con- 
tented in Mingo and if I leave Mingo, it will 
be for the grave. 

This is all the news for you, Billy. The oil 
or gas well is still in the hands of St. Rita and 
the Little Flower. Xext week must decide. 

Come with me and Father Dooley and Cof- 
fey on an auto tour next summer. It will cost 
you nothing. Atlantic City, Long Beach, 
Massachusetts and Vermont is the outline at 
present. Come! 

Adieu, dear Father. 

Fraternally yours, 
Daniel Albert. 

Father Coffey hardly ever used the automo- 
bile and never took the trip to Florida. In a 
few weeks he was destined to leave Mingo, as 
he said, "for the grave." 



CHAPTER XIX 

THE LAST ROAD 

u r iiHERE are some occurrences to which 
JL it is hard to become reconciled and 
against which our hearts continue to protest. 
Father Coffey's death is one of these. So 
kind, so gentle, so full of life and energy, it 
is hard to think of him as one who is no more 
among the living. Having always given 
pleasure to his friends and never pain, the 
thought that death was near him, never entered 
our mind. Master as he was of laughter, of 
cheerfulness and mirth, one could scarcely 
think of death while in his presence, much less 
associate it with his engaging personality. 

"And still it is true that he is with us no 
longer. It is true that this genial, whole- 
souled priest of God, whom everyone knew 
and loved, is a memory, instead of a presence. 
But what a memory! A memory around 
which profusely cluster the endearing qualities 
of his richly-gifted soul. A memory bright 

223 



224 The Last Road 

with sunshine and musical laughter and rich 
with deeds of kindness." 

These words of Father Powers in his In 
Memoriam eloquently reveal to us the sorrow 
and the consternation and the sense of loss of 
every heart that knew Father Coffey, when 
they heard the news of his sudden death. 

The end came more swiftly than these words 
which tell of it. There was no preliminary 
symptom, no immediate warning. 

On February 4, 1916, Father Coffey was, as 
usual, about his parish, attending to all his 
work. In the afternoon of that day, Father 
Dooley, one of Father Coffey's most intimate 
friends, called from Steubenville for a short 
visit. At its close, Father Coffey accom- 
panied him down the hill to the street car, chat- 
ting pleasantly all the way. At the post- 
office corner, they waited together for the car 
which presently came along. They said good- 
bv, and Father Doolev moved into the street 
toward the car. As he was about to step 
aboard, he turned for a last greeting to his 
friend, who had been standing on the curb. 
He did not see Father Coffey. He looked 
again and then saw that Father Coffey had 
fallen to the sidewalk. Father Dooley hurried 
back and perceived at once that it was the end. 



The Last Road 225 

He tried to talk to Father Coffey but there 
was no answer. He gave the last absolution 
and said the prayers for the dying. In a mo- 
ment Father Coffey died. 

He had said his daily Mass that morning 
and perhaps, if the choice were given him, he 
would have chosen the manner of death that 
God had decreed for him to fall and die under 
the cross. He died among the people he loved 
most, with one of his best friends near him, 
with a priestly hand to bless him as he went. 
And his last action was the characteristic one 
of courteous hospitality. 

The lines of the poet, Lionel Johnson, might 
have been written of Father Coffey : 

As one of us, he wrought 
Things of the common hour: 
Whence was the charmed soul brought, 
That gave each act such power; 
The natural beauty of a flower? 

Magnificence and grace, 

Excellent courtesy; 

A brightness on the face, 

Airs of high memory; 

Whence came all these to such as he? 

No man less proud than he, 
Nor cared for homage less ; 
Only, he could not be 



226 The Last Road 

Far off from happiness ; 
Nature was bound to his success. 

Weary, the cares, the jars, 

The lets, of every day ; 

But the heavens filled with stars, 

Chanced he upon the way : 

And where he stayed, all joy would stay. 



THE END 



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LITTLE MANUAL OF ST. RITA. 
McGrath. $0.90. 

LITTLE MASS BOOK, THE. Lynch. 
Paper, *o.o8. 

LITTLE MONTH OF MAY. net, 
$0.60. 

LITTLE MONTH OF THE SOULS IN 
PURGATORY, net, $0.60. 

LITTLE OFFICE OF THE BLESSED 
VIRGIN MARY. In Latin and 
English, net, $1.75; in Latin only, 
net, $1.25. 

LITTLE OFFICE OF THE IMMAC- 
ULATE CONCEPTION. Paper, 
*$o.oS. 

MANNA OF THE SOUL. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Vest- 
pocket edition. Silk cloth, red edges, 
$0.60; imitation leather, limp, gold 
edges, $1.00; American seal, limp, 
gold edges, $i.<>o. 

MANNA OF THE SOUL. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Extra 
large type edition. Im. leather, limp, 
red edges, $1.90; gold edges, $2.25; 
Am. seal, limp, sold edges, $3.25. 

MANNA OF THE SOUL. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Thin 
edition. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 
$1.15; gold edges, $1.40; Am. 
limp, gold edges, $2.00. 



MANNA OF THE SOUL. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Thin 
edition with Epistles and Gospels, 
Im. leather. limp, red edges, $1.50; 
gold edges, Sr.85; Am. seal, limp, gold 
edges, $£.50. 

MANUAL OF THE HOLY EUCHAR- 
IST. Lasance. Imitation leather, 
limp, red edges, $1.25; Am. seal, 
limp, gold edges, $2. 00. 

MANUAL OF THE HOLY NAME, 
$0.75- 

M INUAL OF THE SACRED HEART, 
NEW, $1.00. 

MANUAL OF ST. ANTHONY, net, 
$0.90. , 

MARINE COROLLA. Poems. Hill, 
C.P. «f/,$i.7S. 

MARY, HELP OF CHRISTIANS. 
Hairier, O.F.M., net, $3.50. 

MASS DEVOTIONS AND READINGS 
OX THE MASS. Lasance. Lm. 
leather^ limp, red edges, $1.25; Am. 
seal, limp, gold edges, $2.00. 

MEANS OF GRACE. Brennan. net, 

$5. CO. 

MEDITATIONS FOR ALLTHE DAYS 

OF THE YEAR. Ramon, S.S. 5 

vols., net, $8.75. 
MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY 

IN THE MONTH. Nepvetj, SJ. 

net, Si. 2 5. 
MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY 

IN THE YEAR. Baxter, S.J. net, 

S2.00 
MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY 

IN THE YEAR ON THE LIFE OF 

OUR LORD. Vercruysse, S.J. 2 

vols, net, S4.50. 
MEDITATIONS FOR MONTHLY 

RETREATS. Semple, S.J. m 

S1.25. 
MEDITATIONS FOR TFIE USE 

OF THE SECULAR CLERGY. 

Chaignon, S.J. 2 vols, net, $7.00. 
MEDITATIONS ON THE LIFE 

THE TEACHING AND THE 
. PASSION OF JESUS CHRIST. 

Ilg-Clarke. 2 vols, net, S5.00. 
MEDITATIONS ON THE MYSTER- 
IES OF OUR HOLY FAITH. 

Barraud, S.J. 2 vols., net, $4.50. 
MEDITATIONS ON THE PASSION 

OF OUR LORD, net, $0.85. 
MEDITATIONS ON THE SUFFER- 
INGS OF JESUS CHRIST. Per- 

inaldo. net, Si. 25. 
MISSION-BOOK OF THE REDEMP- 

TORIST FATHERS. $0.90. 



MISSION BOOK FOR THE MAR- 
RIED. GlRARDEY. CSS.R. So.QO. 

MISSION BOOK FOR THE SINGLE. 

GlRARDEY, CSS.R. $O.QO. 

MISSION REMEMBRANCE OF THE 
REDEMPTORIST FATHERS. 

Gelermann, CSS.R. So.qo. 

MOMENTS BEFORE THE TABER- 
NACLE. Russell, SJ. net, $0.60. 

MORE SHORT SPIRITUAL READ- 
INGS FOR MARY'S CHILDREN. 
Cecilia, net, §1.25. 

MOST BELOVED WOMAN, THE. 
Garesche, SJ. net, $1.50. 

MY PRAYER-BOOK. Happiness in 
Goodness. Reflections, Counsels, 
Pra3'ers, and Devotions. By Rev. 
F. X. Lasance. i6mo. Seal grain 
cloth, stiff covers, red edges, $1.50. 
Im. leather, limp, red edges, $1.90; 
gold edges, $2.25. Real leather, limp, 
gold edges. $3.25. 

NEW MISSAL FOR EVERY DAY. 
LasaznCE. Im. leather, limp, red 
edges, $2.50; gold edges, $2.75; Am. 
seal, limp, gold edges, $3.75. 

NEW TESTAMENT. i2mo edition. 
Large type. Cloth, net, $1.75; 32mo 
edition. Flexible cloth, net, $0.45.; 
StiS cloth, net, $0.80; Amer. seal, 
gold edges, net, $1.35. 

NEW TESTAMENT AND CATHO- 
LIC PRAYER-BOOK COMBINED. 
net, $0.85. 

OFFICE OF HOLY WEEK, COM- 
PLETE. Latin and English. Cut 
flush, net, $0.40; silk cloth, net, $0.55; 
Am. seal, red edges, net, $1.35; Am. 
seal, gold edges. net t $1.50. 

OUR FAVORITE DEVOTIONS. 
Lings, net, $1.00. 

OUR FAVORITE NOVENAS. Lings. 
net, $i.co. 

OUTLINE MEDITATIONS. Cecilia. 
net, $1.75. 

PARADISE ON EARTH OPENED 
TO ALL. Natale, S. J. net, $0.75. 

PATHS OF GOODNESS, THE. Ga- 
resche, SJ. net, Si. 50. 

POCKET PRAYER-BOOK. Cloth. 
net, $0.25. 

POLICEMEN'S AND FIREMEN'S 
COMPANION. McGrath. $0.3?. 

PRAYER-BOOK FOR RELIGIOUS. 
Lasance. i6mo. Imitation leather, 
limp, red edges, net, S2.00; Am. seal, 
RmD, gold ed^es, net, $3.00. 

PRAYERS FOR OUR DEAD. Mc- 
Grath. Cloth, $0.35; im. leather, 
$0.75- 



PRISONER OF LOVE. Prayer-Book 
by Father Lasance. Im. leather, 
limp, red edges, $1.90; gold edges, 
$2.25; Am. seal, limp, gold edges, 
$3.25. 

PRIVATE RETREAT FOR RELIG- 
IOUS. Geiermann, C.SS.R. . net, 

REFLECTIONS FOR RELIGIOUS. 

Lasance. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 
net, $2.00; Am. seal, limp, gold edges, 
net, $3.00. 

REJOICE IN THE LORD. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Im. 
leather, limp, red edges, $2.00; gold 
edges, $2.50; Am. seal, limp, gold 
edges, $3.50. 

ROSARY, THE CROWN OF MARY. 
By a Dominican Father. i6mo, paper 

*$O.I2. 

RULES OF LIFE FOR THE PASTOR 
OF SOULS. Slater-Rauch. net, 
$1.50. 

SACRED HEART BOOK. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Im. 
leather, limp, red edges, $1.25; Am. 
seal, limp, gold edges, $2.00. 

SACRED HEART STUDIED IN THE 
SACRED SCRIPTURES. Sain- 
train. net, $1.25. 

SACRIFICE OF THE MASS WORTH- 
ILY CELEBRATED. Chaignon, 
S.J. net, $2.75. 

SECRET OF SANCTITY. Crasset, 
S.J. net, $1.25. 

SERAPHIC GUIDE, THE. $1.25. 

SHORT MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY 
DAY. Lasausse. net, $1.25. 

SHORT VISITS TO THE BLESSED 
SACRAMENT. Lasance. nct,$o.2$. 

SODALIST'S VADE MECUM, net, 
$0.90. 

SOLDIERS , AND SAILORS' COM- 
PANION. McGrath. Vest-pocket 
shape, silk cloth or khaki. $0.3 ^. 

SOUVENIR OF THE NOVITIATE. 
Taylor, net, $0.85. 

SPIRIT OF SACRIFICE, THE, AND 
THE LIFE OF SACRIFICE IN 
THE RELIGIOUS STATE. Giraud. 
net, $3.00. 

SPIRITUAL CONSIDERATIONS. 
Buckler, O.P. mt, $1.25. 

SPIRITUAL DESPONDENCY AND 
TEMPTATIONS. Michel, S.J. net, 
$i-75- 

SPOILING THE DIVINE FEAST. 
DE Zulueta, S.J. Paper, *$o.o8; 

STORIES FOR FIRST COMMUNI- 
CANTS. Keller, net, $0.60. 



SUNDAY MISSAL, THE. Lasance. 
Im. leather, limp, red edges, $1.90; 
gold edges, $2.25; Am. seal, limp, 
gold edges, $3.25. 

THINGS IMMORTAL, THE. Ga- 
resche, S.J. net, $1.50. 

THOUGHTS ON THE RELIGIOUS 
LIFE. Lasance. Im. leather, limp, 
red edges, net, $2.00; Am. seal, limp, 
gold edges, net, $3.00. 

THOUGHTS AND AFFECTIONS ON 
THE PASSION OF JESUS CHRIST 
FOR EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR. 
Bergamo, net, $3.25. 

TRUE SPOUSE OF CHRIST. Liguori. 
net, $1.75. 

VENERATION OF THE BLESSED 
VIRGIN. Rohner-Brennan. net, 
Si. 25. 

VIGIL HOUR, THE. Ryan, S.J. 
Paper, *$o.i2. 

VISITS TO JESUS IN THE TABER- 
NACLE. Lasance. Im. leather, limp, 
red edges, $2.00; Am. seal, limp, gold 
edges, $3-50- 

VISITS TO THE MOST HOLY SAC- 
RAMENT. Liguori. net, $0.90. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Paper, *$o.o8. 

WAY OF THE CROSS, THE. 
Very large-type edition. Method of St. 
Alphonsus Liguori. *$o.25. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Eucharistic 

method. *$o.25. 
WAY OF THE CROSS. By a Jesuit 

Father. *.$o.25. 
WAY OF THE CROSS. Method of St. 

Francis of Assisi. *$o.25. 
WAY OF THE CROSS. Method of St. 

Alphonsus Liguori. ♦So. 25. 
WITH CHRIST, MY FRIEND. [Sloan. 

net, $1.25. 
WITH GOD. Prayer-Book by Father 

Lasance. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 

$2.00; gold edges, $2.50; Am. seal, 

limp, gold edges, $3.50. 
YOUNG MAN'S GUIDE, THE. 

Prayer-Book by Father Lasance. 

Seal grain cloth, still covers, red edges, 

$1.50. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 

$1.90; gold edges, $2. 25. Real leather, 

limp, gold edges, $3.25. 
YOUR INTERESTS ETERNAL. 

Garesche', S.J. net, $1.50. 
YOUR NEIGHBOR AND YOU. Ga- 
resche, S.J. net, $1.50. 
YOUR OWN HEART. Garescfu', SJ. 

net, Si. 50. 
YOUR ,SOUL'S SALVATION, 

Garesche, S.J. net, $1.50. 



ni. THEOLOGY, LITURGY, HOLY SCRIPTURE, PHILOSOPHY, 
SCIENCE, CANON LAW 



ALTAR PRAYERS. Edition A: Eng- 
lish and Latin, net, $1.75. Edition B: 
German-English -Latin, net, $2.00. 

AMERICAN PRIEST, THE. Schmidt. 
net, $1.50. 

BAPTISMAL RITUAL. i2mo. net 
$1.50. 

BENEDICENDA. Schulte. net,$2.7s. 

BURIAL RITUAL. Cloth, net, $1.50; 
sheepskin, net, $2.50; black morocco, 
net, fe-So. 

CASES OF CONSCIENCE. Slater, 
S.J. 2 vols, net, $6.00. 

CHRIST'S TEACHING CONCERN- 
ING JDWORCE. Gigot. net, %2.7 5- 

CLERGYMAN'S HANDBOOK OF 
LAW. Scanlon. net, $2.25. 

COMBINATION RECORD FOR 
SMALL PARISHES, net, $8.00. 

COMMENTARY ON THE PSALMS. 
Berry, net, $3.50. 

COMPENDIUM JURIS CANONICI 
AD USUM CLERI ET SEMINARI- 
ORUM HUJUS REGIONIS ACCOM- 
MODATUM. Smith, net, W2.50. 

COMPENDIUM JURIS REGULAR- 
IUM. Bachofen. net, 1f$3.so. 

COMPENDIUM SACR.E LITURGLE. 
Wapelhorst, O.F.M. net, ^$3.00. 

CONSECRANDA. Schulte. net, $2.75. 

ECCLESIASTICAL DICTIONARY. 
Thein. 4to, half mor. net, $6.50. 

GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF THE HOLY SCRIP- 
TURES. Gigot. net, H$4.oo. 

GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF THE HOLY SCRIP- 
TURES. Abridged edition. Gigot. 
net, ^$2.75. 

HOLY BIBLE, THE. Large type, handy 
size. Cloth, $2.25. 

JESUS LIVING IN THE PRIEST. 
Millet, S J.-Byrne. net, $3-25- 

MANUAL OF HOMILETICS AND 
CATECHETICS. Schuech-Lueber- 
mann. net, $2.25. 

MANUAL OF MORAL THEOLOGY. 
Slater, S.J. 2 vols, net, $8.00. 

MARRIAGE LEGISLATION IN THE 
NEW CODE. Ayrinhac, S.S. net, 
$2.50. 



MARRIAGE RITUAL. Cloth, gilt 
edges, net, $1.50; sheepskin, gilt 
edges, net, $2.50; real morocco, gilt 
edges, net, $3-5<>- 

MESSAGE OF MOSES AND MODERN 
HIGHER CRITICISM. Gigot. 

Paper, net, %$o.i$. 

MORAL PRINCIPLES AND MED- 
ICAL PRACTICE. Coppens, S.J. 
net, $1.50. 

OUTLINES OF DOGMATIC THEOL- 
OGY. Hunter, S.J. 3 vols., net, $7.50. 

OUTLINES OF JEWISH HISTORY, 
FROM ABRAHAM TO OUR LORD. 
Gigot. net, 1f$2.7s. 

OUTLINES OF NEW TESTAMENT 
HISTORY. Gigot. net, ^$2.75. 

PASTORAL THEOLOGY. Stang. net, 
IH2.25. 

PENAL LEGISLATION IN THE NEW 
CODE OF CANON LAW. Ayrinhac, 
S.S. net, $3.00. 

PHILOSOPH1A MORALI, DE. Russo, 
S.J. Half leather, net, $2.75. 

PREPARATION FOR MARRIAGE. 
McHugh, O.P. net, $0.60. 

PRAXIS SYNODALIS. Manuale Sy- 
nodi Diocesan ae ac Provincialis Cele- 
brandae. net, $1.00. 

QUESTIONS OF MORAL THEOLOGY. 
Slater, S.J. net, $3.00. 

RITUALE COMPENDIOSUM. Cloth, 
net, $1.25; seal, net, $2.00. 

SANCTUARY BOYS' HXUSTRATED 
MANUAL. McCallen, S.S. net, 
f$i.oo. 

SHORT HISTORY OF MORAL THE- 
OLOGY. Slater, SJ. net, $0.75. 

SPECIAL INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF THE OLD TESTA- 
MENT. Gigot. Part I. net, ^$2.75. 
Part II, net, %s 25. 

SPIRAGO'S METHOD OF CHRIS- 
TIAN DOCTRINE. Messmer. net, 

TEXTUAL CONCORDANCE OF THE 

HOLY SCRIPTURES. Williams. 

net, $5.75. 
WHAT CATHOLICS HAVE DONE 

FOR SCIENCE. Brennan. net, 

$1.50. 



IV. SERMONS 

ERIES. Bono- HOMILIES ON THE EPISTLES AND 
GOSPELS. Bonomeixi-Byrne. 4 vols., 

net, $9.00. 
MASTER'S WORD, THE, IN THE 
EPISTLES AND GOSPELS. Flynn. 
2 vols., net, $4.00. 



melli, D.D.-Byrne. 4 vols., net, $9.00. 
EIGHT-MINUTE SERMONS. De- 

mouy. 2 vols., net, $4.00. 
HOMILIES ON THE COMMON OF 

SAINTS. Bonomelli Byrne. 2 vols., 

net, $4.50. 



OUTLINES OF SERMONS FOR 
YOUNG MEN AND YOUNG 
WOMEN. Schuen-Wirth. net. $3.50. 

POPULAR SERMONS ON THE CAT- 
ECHISM. Bamberg-Thurston, S.J. 
3 vols., net, $8.50. 

PULPIT SKETCHES. Lambert, net, 
$2.25. 

SERMONS. Canon Sheehan. net t 

SERMONS FOR CHILDREN'S 

MASSES. Frassinetti-Lings. net, 
$2.50. 

SERMONS FOR THE SUNDAYS 
AND CHIEF FESTIVALS OF THE 
ECCLESIASTICAL YEAR. Pott- 
geisser, S.J. 2 vols., net, $5.00. 

SERMONS ON OUR BLESSED LADY. 
Flynm. net, $2^0, 

SERMONS ON THE BLESSED SAC- 



RAMENT. Scheurer-Lasance. net, 
$2.50. 

SERMONS ON THE CHIEF CHRIS- 
TIAN VIRTUES. Hunolt-Wirth 
net,$2.jK. 

SERMONS ON THE DUTIES OF 
CHRISTIANS. Hunolt-Wirth. 

net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE FOUR LAST 
THINGS. Hunolt-Wirth. ^,$2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE SEVEN DEADLY 
SINS. Hunolt-Wirth. net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE VIRTUE AND 
THE SACRAMENT OF PENANCE. 
Hunolt-Wirth. net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE MASS, THE SAC- 
RAMENTS AND THE SACRA- 
MENTALS. Flynn. net,$2.7s. 

SHORT SERMONS FOR LOW 
MASSES. Schooppe,SJ. net, $2. 2^. 



V. HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, HAGIOLOGY, TRAVEL 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ST. IGNA- 
TIUS LOYOLA. O'Connor, SJ. 
net, $1.75. 

BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTIANITY. 
Shah an. net, $3.00. 

CAMILLUS DE LELLIS. By a 
Sister of Mercy, net, $1.73. 

CHILD'S LIFE OF ST. JOAN OF 
ARC. Mannix. net, $1.50. 

GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT OF 
THE CATHOLIC SCHOOL SYS- 
TEM IN THE UNITED STATES. 
Burns, C.S.C. net, $2.50. 

HISTORY OF ECONOMICS. Dewe. 
net, $2.00. 

HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC 
CHURCH. Brueck. 2 vols., net, 
$5.50. 

HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC 
CHURCH. Businger-Brennan. net, 
$3.50. 

HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC 
CHURCH. Businger-Brennan. 
net, Ti$o.75. _ 

HISTORY OF THE PROTESTANT 
REFORMATION. Cobbett-Gas- 
quet. net, $1.25. 

HISTORY OF THE MASS. O'Brien. 
net, $2.00. 

HOLINESS OF THE CHURCH IN 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
Kempf, S.J. net, $2.75. 

LIFE OF ST. MARGARET MARY 
ALACOQUE. Illustrated. Bougaud. 
net, $2.75- 

LIFE OF CHRIST. Businger-Bren- 
nan. Illustrated. Half morocco, gilt 
edges, net, $15.00. 

LIFE OF CHRIST. Illustrated. Bus- 

INGER-MULLETT. mt, $3-5°. 



LIFE OF CHRIST. Cochem. net, 

$1.25. 
LIFE OF ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA. 

Genelli, S.J. net, $1.25. 
LIFE OF MADEMOISELLE LE 

GRAS. net, $1.25. 
LIFE OF POPE PIUS X. Illustrated. 

net, $3.50. 
LIFE OF SISTER ANNE KATHAR- 
INE EMMERICH. McGowan, 

O.S.A. net, $2.50. 
LIFE OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 

Rohner. net, $1.25. 
LITTLE LIVES OF THE SAINTS 

FOR CHILDREN. Berthold. net, 

$1.25. 
LITTLE PICTORIAL LIVES OF THE 

SAINTS. With 400 illustrations. 

net, $2.00. 
LIVES OF THE SAINTS. Butler. 

net, $1.25. 
LOURDES. Clarke, SJ. net, $1.25. 
MARY THE QUEEN. By a Relig- 
ious, net, $0.75. 
MIDDLE AGES, THE. Shahan. net, 

$3.00. 
NAMES THAT LIVE IN CATHOLIC 

HEARTS. Saduer. net, $1.25. 
OUR OWN ST. RITA. Corcoran, 

O.S.A. net, $1.50. 
PATRON SAINTS FOR CATHOLIC 

YOUTH. Mannix. 3 vols. 

net, $1.25. 
PICTORIAL LIVES OF THE SAINTS. 

With nearly 400 illustrations and over 

600 pages, net, $^.00. 
POPULAR LIFE OF ST. Ti 

L'abbe Joseph, net, §1.25. 



PRINCIPLES ORIGIN AND ES- 
TABLISHMENT OF THE CATH- 
OLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM IX THE 
UNITED STATES. Burns, C.S.C. 
net, $2.50. 

RAMBLES IN CATHOLIC LANDS. 
Barrett, O.S.B. Illustrated, net, 
$3-50- 

ROMA. Pagan Subterranean and Mod- 
ern Rome in Word and Picture. By 
Rev. Albert Kuhn, O.S.B. . D.D. 
Preface by Cardinal Gibbons. 617 
pages. 744 illustrations. 48 full-page 
5, 3 plans of Rome in colors. 
81 x 12 inches. Red im. leather, gold 
side, net, %i 5 00. 

ROMAN CURIA AS IT NOW EXISTS. 
j.:rx, S J. net, S2.50. 

ST WASH, net, $1.25. 



ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISE Dubois, 
S.M. net, §1.25. 

ST. JOAN OF ARC. Lynch, S. J. Illus- 
trated, net, $2.75. 

SAINTS AND PLACES. By 
John Ayscough. Illustrated. net t 
$3-oo. 

SHORT LIVES OF THE SAINTS. 
Donnelly, net, S0.90. 

STORY OF JESUS SIMPLY TOLD 
FOR THE YOUNG, THE. Mul- 
holland. net. Si.co. 

STORY OF THE DIVINE CHILD. 
Told for Children. Lings, net, $0.75. 

STORY OF THE ACTS OF THE 
.APOSTLES. Lynch, S.J. Illus- 
trated, net, S2.75. 

WOMEN OF CATHOLICITY. SaD- 
lier. net, §1.25. 



VI. JUVENILES 



FATHER FINN'S BOOKS. 
Each, net, Si. 50. 

FACING DANGER. 

HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. A Sequel to 
•' Lucky Bob." 

LUCKY BOB. 

PERCY WYNN; OR, MAKING A 
BOY OF HIM. 

TOM PLAYFAIR; OR, MAKING A 
START. 

CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT; OR. HOW 
THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED. 

HARRY DEE; OR, WORKING IT 
OUT. 

ETHELRED PRESTON; OR, THE 
ADVENTURES OF A NEW- 
COMER. 

THE BEST FOOT FORWARD; 
AND OTHER STORIES. 

CUPID OF CAMPION. 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME, AND 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 

THE FAIRY OF THE SNOWS. 

THAT OFFICE BOY. 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR- 
ANCE. 

.MOSTLY BOYS. SHORT STORIES. 

FATHER SPALDING'S BOOKS. 
Each, net, Si. so. 

HELD IN THE EVERGLADES. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND- 
HILLS. 

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH 
FORK. 

THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH 
FORK. 

THE CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. 

THE RACE FOR COPPER 
AND. 



THE MARKS OF THE BEAR 

CLAWS. 
THE OLD MILL ON THE WITH- 

ROSE. 
THE SUGAR CAMP AND .AFTER. 

ADVENTURE WITH THE APACHES. 
Ferry, net, S0.75. 

ALTHEA. Nirdlinger. net, $1.00. 

AS GOLD IN THE FURNACE. 
Copcs, S.J. net, Si. 50. 

AS TRUE AS GOLD. Mannix. net, 
$0.75. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND- 
HILLS. Spalding, S.J. net, ti.zo. 

BELL FOUNDRY. Schaching, 
S0.75. 

BERKLEYS, THE. Wight. net, 

BEST FOOT FORWARD, THE. Finn, 

S.J. net, $1.50. 
BETWEEN FRIENDS. Aumerle. 

net, Si.co. 
BISTOURI. Melandri. net, $0.7*. 
BLISSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE. 

I Taggart. net, S0.75. 
BOB O'LINK. Wagcaman. net, $0.75. 
BROWNIE AND I. Aumerle. net, 

Si .00. 
BUNT AND BILL. Mcleolland. 

net, S0.75. 
BY BRANS COME RIVER. Taggart. 

CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. Spald- 
ing. S.J. net, Si. 50. 
CAPTAIN TED. Waggamah. net, 

Si. 00. 
CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK. 

Spalding, S.J. net, Si.^o. 
CHARLIE CHITTYWICK. Bearne, 

S.J. net t %i.$o. 



J 






CHILDREN OF CUPA. Mannix. net, 

CHILDREN OF THE LOG CABIN. 

Delamare. net, $1.00. 
CLARE LORAINE. « Lee." net, 

$1.00. 
CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT. Finn, SJ. 

net, $1.50. 
CUPA REVISITED. Mannix. net, 

CUPID OF CAMPION. Finn, S.J. 

net, $1.50. 
DADDY DAN. Waggaman. net, 

$0.75. 
DEAR FRIENDS. Nirdlinger. net, 

$1.00. 
DIMPLING'S SUCCESS. Mulhol- 

land. net, $0.75. 
ETHELRED PRESTON. Finn, Sj. 

EVERY-DAY GIRL, AN. Crowley. 

net, $0.75. 
FACING DANGER. Finn, SJ. net, 

$1.50, 
FAIRY OF THE SNOWS. Finn, S.J. 

net, $1.50. 
FINDING OF TONY. Waggaman. 

net, $1.50. 
FIVE BIRDS IN A NEST. Delaware. 

net, $1.00. 
FIVE O'CLOCK STORIES. By a 

Religious, net, $1.00. 
FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. Egan. 

net, $1.50. 
FOR THE WHITE ROSE. Hlnkson. 

net, $0.75. 
FRED'S LITTLE DAUGHTER. 

Smith, net, $0.75. 
FREDDY CARR'S ADVENTURES. 

Garrold, SJ. net, $1.00. 
FREDDY CARR AND HIS FRIENDS. 

Garrold, SJ. net, $1.00. 
GOLDEN LILY, THE. Hinkson. net, 

$0.75. 
GREAT CAPTAIN, THE. Hinkson. 

net, $0.75. 
HALDEMAN CHILDREN, THE. 

Mannix. net, $0.75. 
HARMONY FLATS. Whitmire. net, 

$1.00. 
HARRY DEE. Finn, S J. net, $1.50. 
HARRY RUSSELL. Copus, SJ. net, 

$1.50. 
HEIR OF DREAMS, AN. O'Malley. 

net, $0.7^. 
HELD IN THE EVERGLADES. 

Spalding, SJ. net, $1.50. 
HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR- 
ANCE. Finn, SJ. net, $1.50. 
HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. Finn, SJ. 

net, $1.50. 
HOSTAGE OF WAR, A. Bonesteel. 

net, $0.75. 



HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 

Egan. net, $1.00. 
IN QUEST OF ADVENTURE. Man- 
nix. net, $0.75. 
IN QUEST OF THE GOLDEN 

CHEST. Barton, net, $1.00. 
JACK. By a Religious, H.CJ. net, 

$0.75. . 
JACK-O'LANTERN. Waggaman. 

net, $0.75. 
JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILE. 

Taggart. net, $1.00. 
JUNIOR'S OF ST. BEDE'S. Bryson. 

net, $1.00. 
JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. First 

Series, net, $1.5:0. 
JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Second 

Series, net, %\.ko. 
KLONDIKE PICNIC, A. Donnelly. 

net, $1.00. 
LEGENDS AND STORIES OF THE 

HOLY CHILD JESUS. Lxjtz. net, 

$1.00. 
LITTLE APOSTLE ON CRUTCHES. 

Delamare. net $0.75. 
LITTLE GIRL FROM BACK EAST. 

Roberts, net, $0.75. 
LITTLE LADY OF THE HALL. 

Ryeman. net, $0.75. 
LITTLE MARSHALLS AT THE 

LAKE. Nixon-Roulet. net,%\.oo. 
LITTLE MISSY. Waggaman. net, 

$0.75. 
LOYAL BLUE AND ROYAL SCAR- 
LET. Taggart. net, $1.50. 
LUCKY BOB. Finn, S J. »ri,$i. 5 o. 
MADCAP SET AT ST.vANNE'S. Bru- 

nowe. net, $0.75. 
MAD KNIGHT, THE. Schachlnc 

net, $0.75. 
MAKING OF MORTLAKE. Copus, 

S J. net, $1.50. 
MAN FROM NOWHERE. Sadlier. 

net, $1.50. 
MARKS OF THE BEAR CLAWS. 

Spalding, SJ. net, $1.50. 
MARY TRACY'S FORTUNE. Sad- 

lier. net, $0.75. 
MELOR OF THE SILVER HAND. 

Bearne, SJ. net, $1.50. 
MILLYAVELING. Smith. »e/,$i.oo. 
MIRALDA. Johnson, net, $0.75. 
MORE FIVE O'CLOCK STORIES. 

By a Religious, net, $1.00. 
MOSTLY BOYS. Finn, S J. net, $i.so. 
MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. Sadlxeb. 

net. $0.75. 
MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL. 

Sadlier. net, $1.00. 
MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. Barton. 

net, $r.oo. 
NAN NOBODY. Waggaman. net, 

$0.75. 



NED RIEDER. Wehs. net, $1.00. 

NEW SCHOLAR AT ST. ANNE'S. 
Brunowe. net, $1.00. 

OLD CHARLMONT'S SEED-BED. 
Smith, net, $0.75. 

OLD MILL ON THE WITHROSE. 
Spalding, S.J. net, $1.50. 

ON THE OLD CAMPING GROUND. 
Mannix. net, $1.50. 

OUR LADY'S LUTENIST. Bearne, 
SJ. net, $1.50. 

PANCHO AND PANCHITA. Man- 
nix. net, $0.75. 

PAULINE ARCHER. Sadlier. net, 

PERCY WYNN. Finn, S.J. net,%i.$o. 
PERIL OF DIONYSIO. Mannix. 

net, $0.75. 
PETRONILLA. Donnelly. net, 

$1.00. 
PICKLE AND PEPPER. Dorsey. 

net, $1.50. 
PILGRIM FROM IRELAND. Car- 

not. net, $0.75. 
PLAYWATER PLOT, THE. Wagga- 

man. net, $1.00. 
POLLY DAY'S ISLAND. Roberts. 

net, $1.50. 
POVERINA. Buckenham. net, $1.00. 
QUEEN'S PAGE, THE. Hinkson. net, 

$0.75. 
QUEEN'S PROMISE, THE. Wagga- 

man. net, $1.00. 
QUEST OF MARY SELWYN. Clem- 

entia. net, $1.50. 
RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. Spald- 
ing, SJ. net, $1.50. 
RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS. 

Bonesteel. net, $0.75. 
RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. 

Bearne. S.J. net, $1.50. 
ROMANCE OF THE SILVER SHOON. 

Bearne. S.J. net, $1.50. 
ST. CUTHBERT'S. Copus, SJ. net, 

SANDY JOE. Waggaman. net, 

$1.50. 
SEA-GULL'S ROCK. Sandeau. net, 

$0.75. 



SEVEN LITTLE MARSHALLS. 

Nixon-Roulet. net, $0.75. 

SHADOWS LIFTED. Copus, SJ. 
net, $1.50. 

SHEER PLUCK. Bearne, S J. net, 
$1.50. 

SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK. 
Spalding, SJ. net, $1.50. 

SHIPMATES. Waggaman. net, $1.00. 

SUGAR CAMP AND AFTER. Spald- 
ing, S J. net, $1. so. 

SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. Sad- 
lier. net, $0.75. 

TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
MIDDLE AGES, de Capella. net, 
$1.00. 

TALISMAN, THE. Sadlier. net, 
$1.00. 

TAMING OF POLLY. Dorsey. net, 
$1.50. 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME. Finn, S.J, 
net, $1.50. 

THAT OFFICE BOY. Finn, SJ. net, 
$1.50. 

THREE LITTLE GIRLS AND ESPE- 
CIALLY ONE. Taggart. net, $0.7 «;. 

TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. Salome. 
net, $1.00 

TOM LOSELY; BOY. Copus, SJ. 
net, $1.50. 

TOM PLAYFAIR. Finn, SJ. net, 
$1.50. 

TOM'S LUCK-POT. Waggaman. net, 
$0.75. 

TOORALLADDY. Walsh. net,%o.is. 

TRANSPLANTING OF TESSIE. 
Waggaman. net, $1.00. 

TREASURE OF NUGGET MOUN- 
TAIN. Taggart. net, $1.00. 

TWO LITTLE GIRLS. Mack, net, 
$0.75. 

UNCLE FRANK'S MARY. Clemen- 
tia. net, $1.50. 

UPS AND DOWNS OF MARJORIE. 
Waggaman. net, $0.75. 

VIOLIN MAKER. Smith. *tf,$o.75. 

WINNETOU, THE APACHE 
KNIGHT. Taggart. net, $1.00. 

YOUNG COLOR GUARD. Bone- 
steel, net, $0.75. 



VII. NOVELS 



ISABEL C. CLARKE'S GREAT NOV- 
ELS. Each, net, $2.25. 
URSULA FINCH. 
THE ELSTONES. 
EUNICE. 

LADY TRENT'S DAUGHTER. 
CHILDREN OF EVE. 
THE DEEP HEART. 
WHOSE NAME IS LEGION. 
FINE CLAY. 
PRISONERS' YEARS. 



THE REST HOUSE. 
ONLY ANNE. 
THE SECRET CITADEL. 
BY THE BLUE RIVER. 



Mul- 



AGATHA'S HARD SAYING. 

Holland, net, $1.65. 
ALBERTA: ADVENTURESS. L'Er- 

mite. 8vo net, $2.25. 
BACK TO THE WORLD. Champol. 

net, $2.25. 



BARRIER, THE. Bazin. net $1.65. 
BALLADS OF CHILDHOOD. Poems. 

Earls, SJ. nmo. net, $1.50. 
BLACK BROTHERHOOD, THE. 

Garrold, S J. net, $2.25. 
BOND AND FREE. Connor, net, 

$1.00. 
"BUT THY LOVE AND THY 

GRACE." Finn, SJ. net, $1.50. 
BY THE BLUE RIVER. Clarke. 

net, $2.25. 
CARROLL DARE. Waggaman. net, 

$1.25. 
CIRCUS-RIDER'S DAUGHTER. 

Brackel. net, $1.25. 
CHILDREN OF EVE. Clarke, net, 

CONNOR D'ARCY'S STRUGGLES. 

Bertholds. net, $1.25. 
CORINNE'S VOW. Waggaman. net, 

DAUGHTER OF KINGS, A. Hink- 

son. net, $2.25. 
DEEP HEART, THE. Clarke, net, 

$2.25. 
DION AND THE SIBYLS. Keon. 

net, $1.25. 
ELDER MISS AINSBOROUGH, THE 

Taggart. net, $1.25. 
ELSTONES, THE. Clarke. ^,$2.25. 
EUNICE. Clarke, net, $2.25. 
FABIOLA. Wiseman, net, $1.00. 
FABIOLA'S SISTERS. Clarke, net, 

FATAL BEACON, THE. Brackel. 

net, $1.25. 
FAUSTULA. Ayscough. net, $2.25. 
FINE CLAY. Clarke, net, $2.25. 
FORGIVE AND FORGET. Lingen. 

net, $1.25. 
GRAPES OF THORNS. Waggaman. 

net, $1.25. 
HEART OF A MAN. Maher. net, 

$2.25. 
HEARTS OF GOLD. Edhor. net, 

HEIRESS OF CRONENSTEIN. 

Hahn-Hahn. net, Si. 00. 
HER BLIND r : FOLLY. Holt, net, 

$1.25. 
HER FATHER'S DAUGHTER. Hink- 

son. net, $2.25. 
HER FATHER'S SHARE. Power. 

net, $1.25. 
HER JOURNEY'S END. Cooke. 

net, $1.25. 
IDOLS; or THE SECRET OF THE 

RUE CHAUSSE D'ANTIN. de 

Navery. net, $1.25. 
IN GOD'S GOOD TIME. Ross, net, 

$1.00. 
IN SPITE OF ALL. Stanhorth, net, 

$1.25. 



IN THE DAYS OF KING HAL. 

Taggart. net, $1.25. 
IVY HEDGE, THE. Egan. net, 

$2.25. 
KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS. 

Harrison, net, $1.25. 
LADY TRENT'S DAUGHTER. 

Clarke, net, $2.25. 
LIGHT OF HIS COUNTENANCE. 

Hart, net, $1.00. 
"LIKE UNTO A MERCHANT." 

Gray, net, $2.25. 
LINKED LIVES. Douglas. ^,$2.25. 
LITTLE CARDINAL. Parr, net, 

$1.65. 
LOVE OF BROTHERS. Hinkson. net, 

$2.25. 
MARCELLA GRACE. Mulholland. 

net, $1.25. 
MARIE OF THE HOUSE D'ANTERS. 

Earls, SJ. net, $2.25. 
MELCHIOR OF BOSTON. Earls, 

SJ. net, $1.25. 
MIGHTY FRIEND, THE. L'Ermite. 

net, $2.25. 
MIRROR OF SHALOTT. Benson. 

net, $2.25. 
MISS ERIN. Francis, net, $1.25. 
MR. BILLY BUTTONS. Lecky. net, 

$1.65. 
MONK'S PARDON, THE. de Nav- 
ery. net, $1.25. 
MY LADY BEATRICE. Cooke, net, 

$1.00. 
NOT A JUDGMENT. Keon. net, 

$1.65. 
ONLY ANNE. Clarke, net, $2.25. 
OTHER MISS LISLE. Martin, net, 

$1.00. 
OUT OF BONDAGE. Holt, net, 

OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE. de La- 

mothe. net, $1.25. 
PASSING SHADOWS. Yorke. net, 

$1.65. 
PERE MONNIER'S WARD. Lecky. 

net, $1.65. 
PILKINGTON HEIR, THE. Sad- 

lier. net, $1.25. 
PRISONERS' YEARS. Clarke, net, 

$2.25. 
PRODIGAL'S DAUGHTER, THE, 

AND OTHER STORIES. Bugg. 

net, $i.=>o. 
PROPHET'S WIFE. Browne, net, 

$1.25. 
RED INN OF ST. LYPHAR. Sad- 

lier. net, $1.25. 
REST HOUSE, THE. Clarke, net, 

$2.25. 
ROSE OF THE WORLD. Martin. 

net, $1.25. 



tl 



ROUND TABLE OF AMERICAN 
CATHOLIC NOVELISTS, net, $1.25. 

ROUND TABLE OF FRENCH CATH- 
OLIC NOVELISTS, net, $1.25. 

ROUND TABLE OF GERMAN 
CATHOLIC NOVELISTS. net, 
$1.25. 

ROUND TABLE OF IRISH AND 
ENGLISH CATHOLIC NOVEL- 
ISTS, net, $1.25. 

RUBY CROSS, THE. Wallace, net, 

RULER OF THE KINGDOM. Keon. 

met, $1.65. 
SECRET CITADEL, THE. Clarke. 

net, $2.25. 
SECRET OF THE GREEN VASE. 

Cooke, net, $1.00. 
SHADOW OF EVERSLEIGH. Lans- 

downe. net, $1.00. 
SHIELD OF SILENCE Henry-Ruf- 
fe*, net, $2.25. 
SO AS BY FIRE. Connor, net, $1.25. 
SON OF SIRO, THE. Copus, SJ. 

net, S2.25. 
STORY OF CECILIA, THE. Hinkson. 

net. Si. 65. 
STUORE. Earls, SJ. r^.Si.50. 
TEMPEST OF THE HEART. Gray. 

net, $1.25. 
TEST OF COURAGE. Ross, net, 

$1.00. 
THAT MAN'S DAUGHTER. Ross. 

net, $1.25. 
THEIR CHOICE. Skinner, net, 

$1.00. 



THROUGH THE DESERT. Sien- 

kiewicz. net, $2.25. 
TIDEWAY, THE. Ayscough. net, 

S2.25. 
TRAINING OF SILAS. Devine. net, 

TRUE ' STORY OF MASTER 

GERARD. Sadlter. net, $1.65. 
TURN OF THE TIDE, THE. Gray. 

net, $1.25. 
UNBIDDEN GUEST, THE. Cooke. 

net, $1.00. 
UNDER THE CEDARS AND THE 

STARS. Canon Sheehan. net, $2.2;. 
UP IN ARDMUIRLAND. Barrett, 

O.S.B. net, $1.65. 
URSULA FINCH. Clarke, net, $2.2$. 
VOCATION OF EDWARD CONWAY, 

THE. Egan. net, Si. 6*. 
WARGRAVE TRUST, THE. Reid. 

net, Si. 65. 
WAR MOTHERS. Poems. Garesche, 

SJ. net, S0.60. 
WAY THAT LED BEYOND, THE. 

Harrison, net. $1.25. 
WEDDING BELLS OF GLENDA- 

LOUGH, THE. Earls, SJ. net, 

WHEN LOVE IS STRONG. Keon. 

net, $1.65. 
WHOSE NAME IS LEGION. Clarke. 

net, S2.25. 
WOMAtt OF FORTUNE, A. Retd. 

net, $1.65. 



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